Trying To Get It Right
by sponsormusings
Summary: Katniss Everdeen isn't looking for redemption, and isn't expecting forgiveness. All she wants is a new start, and she knows she'll only be able to do that if she can face the person whose heart she'd broken. But seeing Peeta Mellark again is harder than she ever thought it would be. A submission for Prompts in Panem - Final Tribute - November 2016.


"Will you tell me what happened?"

He mutters the words, and they're so quiet I can almost pretend he hasn't spoken. I don't look at him, or acknowledge the question; instead I keep my gaze directed towards the sun, grateful for the oversized sunglasses shading my eyes from the oranges and yellows that are so bright they almost seem unnatural. I focus on that, on the way the sun is slowly sinking towards the water below, ready to be swallowed whole until the next morning.

"What do you want to know?" By the time I finally find my voice to answer and turn to face him, he's plucking absently at the frayed hem of his jeans, almost as though he doesn't care whether or not I answer him. But when he looks over at me, his eyes are already cold, already icy.

Clearly, he does care.

"What he did to drive you here. What he did to send you half way around the world with nothing more than a ratty backpack clutched to your chest and your passport in your pocket, back to the person you left behind." It sounds like he's spitting the words out, that he can't get them out quick enough. The hospitable veneer is gone, and I welcome it. "I mean, dammit, Katniss. I don't hear from you in years, and then suddenly you show up on my doorstep without an explanation, and expect me to welcome you with open arms. And if he's not here with you, the only logical reason is it's because of him."

I push the sunglasses on top of my head, my scowl forming almost unbidden. "You always jump to conclusions, Peeta. Always have, always will."

His eyes narrow. "Then tell me it's not because of him."

"It's not because of him," I echo, but I know the words sound hollow and false, even to my own ears.

"Bullshit," he snaps, launching to his feet and running his hands through his haphazard blond waves. He kicks out at the wood of the balustrade in front of us, turns his back on the sun so he can glare at me. I can sense the frustration and anger building inside of him, and part of me feels guilty for attempting to lie to him, even now.

"Is it really worth us going over this?" I ask, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. This wasn't how it was meant to go.

"You keep running, so yes."

"I'm not running," I deny.

He laughs mirthlessly. "Of course you are. You're always running. You ran from me, you ran to him, then you ran halfway around the world. And now you've had enough, so you're running back. Like I'm your damned security blanket."

"It's not like that!" I stand abruptly, pushing the seat back so the legs scrape noisily against the wood.

"Yes it is, Katniss." Peeta shakes his head, casts his eyes off into the distance. He's calm, almost eerily so, when he speaks again. "You know...sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if you'd said yes when I asked."

I feel the lump lodge in my throat at his words, feel the years of regret lay themselves even heavier upon my shoulders. I can't tell him that I wonder the same thing, late at night when the day has worn me out and I can't hide from my mistakes. I can't tell him I wonder if my life would be better if he'd always been in it. I can't tell him that I've thought of him more that I wanted to, more than I should have. I can't admit to any of those things, not when I don't think I'm entirely prepared to hear what he'd say if I did.

After almost three years away, it's hard enough just seeing him again.

* * *

 _3...or 4...or 5 days earlier..._

"I'm so sorry. It was an accident, I didn't mean for it to happen."

I watch impassively as the apologies fall from his lips, as his face shows all the remorse that it's meant to in a situation like this. His eyes are puppy-dog sorry, his lips pouted as though he's wounded, his hands pressed together like he's praying to God for divine intervention.

I don't think he's ever talked to God, so now probably isn't the right time for him to start.

"I don't care, Gale," I murmur, glancing down at my hands and finding a sudden interest in my cuticles. Shit, Madge would have a fit if she saw the state of my nails. "We've never said we were monogamous, or an actual couple. Neither of us should have expected fidelity." Except when I think about it, I guess deep down I did, because I'd always given him mine. Is that just the latest line in my long list of mistakes?

He drops to his knees in front of me, places his hands on my thighs. The tears in my jeans means there's inches of flesh where his palms touch, and it takes all the willpower I have not to flinch. For all the times I've welcomed his touch, right now it simply makes my skin crawl. But I don't want him to know how much it bothers me. He doesn't deserve it.

"I know we never said it," he agrees, grey eyes so similar to mine boring back at me, willing forgiveness. "But after all this time, I'm certain it was implied. It was just this once, Catnip, and I'm sorry."

My childhood nickname - the one he'd coined when I was 13 and one that I still carry to this day - pulls me up, and I feel the first flicker of anger course through me. Before it was hurt, a little numbness, a bit of shock. But something about his familiarity, on trying to fall back into old habits and memories, makes me want to hurt him.

I straighten my spine, shift in my seat so his hands have nowhere to go but fall limply back to his sides. "Once? Can you count, Gale?" I tip my head to the side as though I'm in deep thought about the question I've just asked him, cupping the curve of my jaw with my thumb and forefinger. I can speak sarcasm better than any other language. "Do you mean once this month? This week? Or just today?"

His eyes flicker then, with doubt, with worry, with what anyone else would consider fear. But Gale Hawthorne doesn't feel fear. He goes in, all guns blazing, with no worry about the consequences. It's what had drawn me to him for so long, one of the things that had appealed to me when I'd hit thirteen and realized my neighbour was a lot more interesting than I'd thought. Part of what had made me decide to follow him on his journey around the world. "I don't know what you mean."

"Then let me explain it to you," I bite out through teeth that have suddenly clenched as my knowledge wells within me, ready to spill over after weeks of lying in wait. "Leevy was this week. But do you think I don't know about Maddy in Bangkok? Britta in Phuket? Lauren in Singapore? I could probably pull out a world map and connect the dots for you, Gale, and it would make one hell of a pattern."

He yanks himself to his feet, stumbling back a little; his cheeks are blazing red, his eyes are narrowed and accusing. "I can't believe this."

"What part can't you believe? The part where I actually knew about it all? Or the part where you proclaim innocence?" His mouth opens and closes like a fish, and it's pretty satisfying to see Gale lost for words. I curve the corner of my mouth as I lean back in my seat, knowing the more I show ambivalence, the more annoyed he'll get. And right now, I _want_ him annoyed, I want him defensive. I want him to feel as pissed as I do, though he really has no right. "Don't bother lying, Gale. Lauren even admitted it to me herself, after one too many shots of vodka. That girl can't hold her liquor, I'll tell you that now."

He shakes his head, folds his arms across his chest. "She's lying."

I scoff. "Really? _That's_ what you're going with?"

"You said yourself she was drunk, Katniss. You're going to take her word over mine?"

"I dunno, I'm pretty sure Lauren would have had no reason to lie to me."

"Well, she did," he insists, jerking his chin forward.

I sigh deeply. "Okay, if that's the way you want to play it, that's fine. But…" I trail off before I can utter the words that have been running through my head since I'd opened the hotel room door and had seen Gale and Leevy banging each other into oblivion. I know when I say them, I'll mean them, but after all this time... "I'm done. With this, with you. I need to start again."

He blinks in shock. "Are you dumping me?"

I laugh, but there's not a hint of humour to be found in it. "And you seem so shocked by the idea. I guess I am, if you want to call it that. Whatever we had has already been over for a long time now; doesn't this just make it official?"

He runs a hand across his scalp, his black hair shorn short to compensate for the brutally hot days we'd experienced in Manila, and that he'd kept for practicality reasons ever since. "I just…" he pauses, breathes in deeply. "None of them meant anything."

I'm glad he's admitted it, though that absolute, final nail in the coffin of truth lances a deeper spear of betrayal through me. With that, my anger has banked again, back to the numbness, and I vaguely wonder if it should _hurt_ more. "It doesn't matter. When it comes down to it, neither did I, not really."

He winces at that, shakes his head. "That's not true, and you know it."

"But we never meant to each other what we should have, not when things changed."

"I-"

I stand up, effectively cutting Gale off from whatever he was going to say. "It doesn't matter," I repeat. "I'm going to pack, and then head to the airport, get the first flight out of Bali that I can. I'm going home."

"Katniss, please-"

I shake my head. "No, let's not let this get any worse than it already is."

He shoves his hands into the back pockets of his khaki shorts, rocks back on the heels of his worn flip-flops. "I don't want us to end on bad terms."

"Then you should have thought of that before you dipped your wick in a bunch of other girls," I shoot back, and his lips thin. I watch as he takes a deep breath before responding.

"I can't take it back; all I can say is sorry. You're my oldest friend and I...I never expected things to happen this way. When we left...neither of us anticipated any of this."

I move towards the sliding door that leads to the balcony, yanking it open to welcome the refreshing breeze, and stare out at the thin streams of sunlight slicing through the breaks in the trees. I think back to less than three weeks ago when we'd first arrived, and had marvelled at how ridiculously cheap it had been for us to get an actual hotel room just for the two of us. After months - years - in backpacker hostels and cheap lodgings with a bunch of other travelers, it had seemed like a palace. Now all it feels like is the high point before the fall.

"You're right," I admit. "Neither of us expected this. But what I did expect was a little damned respect and decency from you, Gale. You should have just been honest with me, and we could have avoided this whole damn mess..." I trail off, push my bangs off my forehead. I feel pinpricks of tears at my eyes, but I refuse to let him see me cry. No, I refuse to cry at all. "You know what? I don't want to talk anymore. I just want to be on my own before I go."

From the corner of my eye, I see his arm lift as though he's reaching out to me, before it falls back limply to his side. "Okay. Okay. Just let me know your plans before you leave."

I don't say anything in reply, simply wait until the soft click of the door closing tells me he's gone before I slide bonelessly to the floor. I'd known all along it had been a mistake - leaving with him in the first place, falling into bed with him after being celibate for too damned long, then repeatedly doing it whenever we'd had an itch to scratch. The promise that it wasn't serious between us, that it was just sex, that neither of us expected or wanted anything from it.

We've both been so stupid.

I glance at the backpack shoved in the corner - once upon a time a deep forest green, now dirty and worn and looking more brown in some patches than anything else - then reach for my iPad on the side table, connecting to the WiFi and bringing up the website for Denpasar's airport. I don't care how much it costs; it's time to leave, and I don't want to waste a minute more.

At least Prim will be happy.

* * *

She hadn't been, not at first. When I'd stomped down the communal hallway towards our apartment, my braid a twisted mess over one shoulder, and the brand-spanking new backpack on the other, she'd flung open our door and folded her arms across her chest, scowling so much like me it was like staring in a blonde-haired, blue-eyed mirror.

"This is dumb, Kat," she'd muttered, while I'd planted myself at the table in the kitchen, and had written down a hurried list of my insurance details, contact numbers and the details for the first hostel Gale had booked, and where I'd managed to snag a last minute spot in a shared dorm. We'll be winging it after London. "Trips like this should take months, _years_ , of planning. Not days. You're not thinking straight."

"I'm thinking perfectly straight," I'd told her firmly, biting down on my tongue as I'd done so. It'd hurt like a bitch, and my eyes had watered, but I'd refused to look up at her, lest she think I was crying over it all. "I need to go away, see the world, do something other than just work. My job is nothing important. You're just about to start med school, Uncle Haymitch is sober and Madge and Delly have finally gotten their asses in gear and hooked up. None of you need me _here_."

"That's not true," she'd insisted. "You know we'd all totally be happy for you if you were just going because you want to travel, but…"

"But what?" This time - and assured that my tears had dissipated - I'd looked up to face her directly, leaning back slightly in the chair.

"But you're just upset. And I don't want you to leave upset. Can't you just speak to him, work things out-"

"No," I'd said firmly, then had gotten back to my list. If I hadn't, the angry words we'd yelled at each other days before would have continued to repeat themselves in my head; the selfish excuses I'd made, the bitter responses he'd snapped back at me. "He knew what he was getting into - I was upfront from the start. It's not what I wante- _want_." I'd carefully made sure that she knew I still meant it, that I hadn't changed my mind, that it was still present tense. That it hadn't been fear that had been driving me onto that plane.

She'd sighed then, realized there was no chance to change my mind. "Then how long do you think you'll be gone for?"

Gale had already told me by then that he'd had no plans to return home anytime soon. That if he found somewhere in the world that he wanted to live, he'd do whatever he had to do to stay there. My plans had been less formed, but I hadn't wanted to lock myself into a deadline if I didn't have to. "I don't know."

"6 months? A year?"

I'd shrugged. "Maybe longer."

"Longer?!" Her voice had risen an octave, and I'd winced.

"Maybe. I don't know, Prim. But if I'm ever going to do it, now's the time to do so. You're going to be so focused on med school that you don't need me here to distract you. And I'll only be a phone call or an email away."

"I…" She'd trailed off, lifted her arms up in question before dropping them uselessly back to her sides. "I just want to make sure that you'll be happy by going."

"I'm happy," I'd reiterated, and then had risen to my feet, planted a swift kiss on her cheek. "I want to go. I need to go."

She hadn't been happy about it, but she'd taken me to the airport when it had been time for me to go. Cried and hugged me while she'd made me promise I'd write, and that I'd have a fun time, and that I'd make sure that Gale looked after me. And for awhile, I'd done all three.

And then eventually, I'd done none of them.

* * *

"My flight leaves at 8 tonight, and I stopover in Singapore," I tell her, my iPhone shoved in the crook between my ear and my neck while I shove toiletries into my small case. "It gets me into Capitol City just before 7am the next day...or something like that. I'm not super clear on if it's a day ahead or a day behind, I don't even know. But I'll forward you the email with the confirmation details so you know all my flight times, okay?" There's silence on the other end of the phone, and for a moment, I think I've lost her. "Prim? Prim, you still there?

"Yeah, I'm here," she finally replies, and I can hear the concern in her voice. "I just don't understand what's going on. What's happened? Why are you rushing back so suddenly?"

"I just realized it's time for me to come home," I tell her, and it's not a lie. But she doesn't need to know the gory details just yet; she'll probably just tell me she told me so, or something equally obnoxious that I don't want to hear right now. "Gale is sticking around a bit longer - I think he wants to go back to New Zealand - so it's just me."

"Oh."

"Look, I'm gonna go and finish packing, but I just wanted to let you know I'm coming home."

"Do you...do you want me to come pick you up at the airport? I can change my shift at Sae's if I'm working-"

"No, no, don't worry about that. I'll make my way back home and see you there. The spare key still in the usual spot?" It makes me all the more glad that Prim has been able to attend med school close to home, knowing that the little apartment we'd bought after we'd sold our childhood home was still there waiting for me to return.

"Yeah, it is." Her voice is soft, made softer by the scratchy connection I've managed to get. Technology has come a long way, but it's still not perfect. "It'll be good to have you home, Kat."

"It'll be good to be home," I tell her honestly. I glance at my watch and cringe when I remember how late I've called her. "Now I know it's almost midnight there - go get some sleep before class, and I'll see you soon. Love you, Little Duck."

I wait for her to echo my goodbye before I disconnect the call, moving out of the bathroom and tossing my phone on the bed and the toiletry bag in the backpack. I don't have much to pack - with the amount of travel Gale and I have done, we both learnt to pack light and lean years ago - and I find myself with another hour on my hands before I have to head to the airport. I could leave now, but the free WiFi and comfortable bed to lie down on wins me over. If I'm going to spend more than a day in coach, I'm going to make the most of being able to stretch out while I can.

I keep myself busy, trying to keep my mind off Gale, and everything that's happened. I try not to think of the images that keep trying to force themselves into my brain, of the two people who'd been wrapped around each other on the sheets I'd stripped off the bed and thrown in the corner in a fit of disgust. Trying not to think of how many times in the last two months I might've slept on sheets that he's slept with someone else on.

Instead, I shoot an email off to Uncle Haymitch and to Madge and Delly to tell them I'll be home soon, keeping the details to the bare minimum. I send my itinerary to Prim, and double check the weather, to make sure some freak thunderstorm isn't going to roll through and delay my flight (there's nothing but clear skies). I do a quick scroll through my facebook feed, and see nothing but photos of people I don't know and ads for things I don't want or need.

Apparently my age and single status sets my personal algorithm at dating sites galore.

Pissed off at the page I'd reluctantly created only at Prim's urging, I shut it down and instead open my much preferred Instagram. On there, I'm anonymous - I've never posted pictures of myself, only of the things I've seen, the places I've gone to, and I don't follow a single person I know. The only accounts I follow are ones like what I post, and the steady stream of waterfalls, mountains and clifftops I scroll through are a pleasant and welcoming sight after my foray onto facebook.

A particularly striking sunset catches my eye, and I have to pause my quick scrolling to bring it back to the centre of my screen. The sun is like a glowing ball of fire sinking into the depths of a water almost black from the lack of light bouncing off it, and the colors swirling in the sky - orange and yellow and crimson and pink and a million other shades I could never name - take my breath away. I click on the account that posted it, before noting that it's a reblog from another account. I click on that, hoping that when I do that it gives me a better location than 'West Coast USA', and I'm happy to see that it does - it's in a place called Amalthea, about a 4 hour flight from Panem. I could easily go there for an extra-long weekend after I'm settled back in at home, maybe even convince Prim to come with me as sister re-bonding time-

My thoughts scatter into a million pieces after I've begun to scroll through the OPs account; beautiful photos of the same sunset and its corresponding sunrise, lush green mountains, serene lakes, artfully placed food on tables in hipster cafés...and him.

Of course, it had to be him.

I glance around the room, as though suddenly the Instagram Police were going to show up and arrest me for looking through my ex-boyfriends account, and then voraciously scroll through the pictures, seeing what he's been doing, where he's been going, who…

Who he's been seeing.

My heart drops into my stomach as I see a girl with shoulder length dark hair struck through with bright streaks of red sticking her tongue out as she models pink sunglasses in the shape of hearts, another of her grinning widely with a purple cupcake shoved in her mouth, yet another with her back to the viewer as she stares out at the same sunset that I'd been drooling over only moments before. There are other people interspersed in the feed - his brothers, a group of kids with icing smeared faces, a couple who only have eyes for each other - but this brunette is far more predominant than everyone else.

And for the second time today, I feel like hurting something. Though in this case, I have absolutely no right to. I was the one who'd hurt _him_ , and while I'd spent many nights regretting it, wondering how I could have done things differently, I'm in no place to act wounded or hurt that he's found someone else. It's only right that he should have, after all. He deserves better than me. He deserves a wife, and a family, two things I was never going to give him. I hope he's happy.

The decision is a split second one, and I pick up my phone, quickly redialling the last number in my call log before I have the chance to chicken out and change my mind.

Within minutes, I forward an updated schedule to Prim, and tell her that I'm going to be later than I first anticipated.

There's something else I need to do before I can go back to Panem.

* * *

It feels weird stepping onto home soil after after all this time away. Capitol City's airport looks much like every other airport I've been in, though the grey sky I can spot through the windows at the end of the arrivals hall is a marked difference to my recent days through South East Asia.

I hitch my backpack higher onto my shoulder, follow the signs to the connections area, knowing I don't have a lot of time to waste. The flight up to Amalthea from Capitol City isn't a long one, but I'd rather get there and crash at my hotel than wait for the next one in a couple of hours. Packing light - and not having to worry about my belongings not making into onto the flight - works to my advantage yet again, and being able to deftly move around haggard travellers to my gate with nothing but a backpack takes me quicker than I expected.

I absently listen to a couple next to me excitedly talking about their plans for tomorrow (which is apparently Saturday, though my internal body clock can hardly even comprehend the time, let alone the day), and try desperately not to nod off. Adrenaline and anger and hurt had kept me going for so many hours, but while I'd managed to get an hour or two of sleep on the first flight, the second flight from Singapore to Capitol City had not been a happy one. Stuck in the middle seat between a woman who had needed to go to the bathroom every hour like clockwork, and a guy on the aisle who'd spread his legs so wide I'd assumed he thought his dick deserved more seat space than I did, I'd barely gotten 45 minutes of shut eye.

I connect to the wifi to keep me busy, and my phone immediately vibrates in my hand. I glance down at the screen, note the three emails and 8 Messenger notifications waiting for me that have come through over the last day.

 _You didn't tell me when you were leaving. I had no clue._

 _Why did you just leave?_

 _Dammit, Katniss, just tell me what the hell you're doing._

I don't even bother to read the rest of the ones from Gale, sent at varying times over the last 24 hours, and delete the whole thread. If he'd wanted to know, he would have contacted Prim by now, and if he had, she'd know something was up.

I switch to my emails, noting they're all replies from the ones I'd sent before I left.

 _Sent: Today, 6:05am_

 _From: Haymitch Abernathy_

' _Bout damned time, sweetheart. If only I wasn't reformed, I'd ask you to drop by duty free._

* * *

 _Sent: Yesterday, 9:57pm_

 _From: Madge Undersee-Cartwright_

 _K-_

 _Ohmigod, we can't believe you're coming home! We're so excited. Tell us when you're back in town and we'll catch up for dinner!_

 _M+D_

 _P.S. Jack Cato knocked up Glimmer Roberts. Things we expected to happen 10 years ago, huh?!_

* * *

 _Sent: Yesterday, 6:42pm_

 _From: Primrose Everdeen_

 _I hope things go okay in Amalthea, K. Call me at any time if you need to._

 _And Gale contacted me - I know what happened between you guys, too. Fuck him._

I shut down my emails, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Knowing that Gale did contact her, and that she would've demanded to know what was going on, makes me wonder if she'd given him a piece of her mind, and for the first time in over a day, I really _do_ feel like smiling. Primrose Everdeen wasn't the mild-mannered girl I'd grown up with anymore. Once she'd started med school, she'd had to - in her own words - _man up and start taking no bullshit from anyone. If I'm going to be saving lives, I'm not going to let some cocky asshole would-be doctor try and push me around_. Of course, she'd ended up dating the cocky asshole would-be doctor, so I guess her standing up to him had somehow worked two fold.

" _Calling all passengers for flight 1010 to Amalthea - your gate is open and ready for boarding."_

The dulcet tones of the flight steward over the loudspeaker draws my attention away from my phone and to the door that's now opened. I stand, hiking my backpack over my shoulder - catching a whiff of myself in the process and damn do I stink - and making my way over to the counter, ticket in hand. It's only now, that I'm about to step on the plane, that the nerves begin to make their way into my stomach.

I know, instinctively, that he's not going to be happy to see me. It's not like I'm going back to him to beg his forgiveness, and beg that we get back together. No, that's not what I'm going for. But he deserves an apology, at least. And after the last few days, I realize I can - and need to - give him that. And if I give him that, I feel like I can move on. Close off all those old chapters, and start afresh. Forget what I've done, or at least _accept_ what I've done. And know that I know better now.

At least, I hope I do anyway.

* * *

I should have known that he'd end up in a place as picture-perfect as Amalthea.

I wake late the next morning, after having slept like the dead for the last 18 hours straight, and open the curtains to my hotel room, right on the main street of town. It's busy - locals and tourists alike strolling down the street, popping into the small boutiques that have, in part, made this coastal town such a popular place to live and visit. A small park is directly across from the hotel, filled with perfectly cultivated gardens and trees and pathways that people wander along. Through the other side of the park, I can see a brief glimpse of the ocean, well-known for its offshore swells and glorious sunsets.

He always did have an eye for beauty, even in the places that he lived.

I go through my morning (although in this case, it's more of a late-afternoon) routine, sluggish from the long sleep that still hasn't completely replenished me, and am twisting the hairband around the end of my damp braid when I finally step out of the hotel room door. I don't look great - the bags under my eyes are bigger than my backpack and my clothes are faded and slightly ratty after months of overuse - but I tell myself it doesn't really matter what I look like. I'm not here to impress anyone.

It wasn't hard to find him - a quick Google search gave me the answers I'd needed - and I know what time his studio closes. I'm aiming to get there for 5pm on the dot, and am hoping he's already finished up any appointments he might have for the day. The last thing I want is to be standing there, looking like an idiot while he talks to a client. _"Oh hi, sorry to rush you, but I'd just really like to speak to Peeta. Yeah, I'm his ex-girlfriend. I turned him down when he asked me to marry him, then ran off across the globe after we fought about it, and now I'm here to make amends!"_

Yeah, that's not exactly how I want it to go down.

I shove my sunglasses on over my eyes as I step out onto the sidewalk, get my bearings for a moment before I turn right towards where I know his studio is. It's at the very end of the street, in the less busy part of town where the road curves around to back onto the rocky end of the waterfront; it explains how he's always at the right place at the right time for those sunset shots he clearly loves to take. I don't even want to know how much the rent would cost on a place like this, but said Google search also pretty much told me that he's become one of the most successful photographers on the west coast, so I guess he can afford it. I'm surprised that none of my friends have mentioned the sharp rise of his success to me over the last couple of years, but considering how I'd left, I probably shouldn't be. Plus maybe they'd figured I'd do my own sleuthing - which, in complete honesty, I'd avoided in fear of what I'd see.

I stand outside his building for a few minutes, my heart beginning to pound in my chest and my stomach threatening to revolt against the room-service burger I'd chowed down only an hour before. The nerves are unexpected and expected all at the same time, and instead of focusing on _him_ , I try and focus on the building to steady my racing pulse. It's all white wood and glass, slim like a row-house and spread over two levels. I can see a hint of a deck protruding out over the water behind it, an expanse of grass - another park that acts as a buffer between the rocks and the start of the beach - to the left hand side leaving him with only one neighbour to the right of his property.

I clear my throat for really no point at all and step up to the front door, pushing it open and listening to the faint chime that rings somewhere in the building as a result. I hear a voice - female, European accented, though I can't immediately place it - call out that they'll be with me in a moment, and I take a second to look around, pushing my sunglasses up onto my head as I begin to do so. The room - bright and airy, with polished wooden floors the color of oak and the soft strains of a song playing that I recognize as being by the Lumineers - is one long open space, filled with a cluster of comfortable looking sofas close to the entrance and a section towards the back corner set up for what I assume is a portrait session. The walls are lined with photographs; mostly landscapes and nature, interspersed with the occasional bustling city or family shoot. I'm studying a mountaintop strewn with snow, sunlight glinting off it like diamonds, when I hear footsteps pad down the wooden staircase.

"Sorry for the wait," the female voice from before greets me, and I pivot on my heels to face her. No surprises, it's the girl from the Instagram feed, although the look on her face when I turn around is not nearly as friendly. "Can I help you?"

"I, uh..." I trail off, the clearing of my throat from before completely ineffective, and clear it again. Maybe I should have given myself another day or two - or ten - before I tried this. "I'm, um, actually here hoping to speak to Peeta Mellark. We're…"

"Old friends," the woman finishes, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, and I blink in surprise. She folds her arms across her chest. "You are Katniss Everdeen."

Shit, this was _not_ what I was expecting.

"Um. Yeah. Yeah, that's me."

She nods to herself before crossing the room, stopping directly in front of me. Her eyes travel from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, and I'm mortified that I'm being scrutinized by his new partner. "You're not very big, are you?" she finally announces, and I find myself more distracted by her accent than anything else. I have nothing to say, so I don't say anything; instead, I stare dumbly at the bare ring finger on her left hand, and tell myself he must still be waiting for that perfect moment to ask.

"He's upstairs," she finally says, stepping back and gesturing towards a sliding door at the end of the room that shows the back deck and the expanse of ocean beyond. "Go out there and wait. I will get him."

I don't know what to do other than to follow her directions, so I do so, watching her stomp back up the stairs before letting myself out the door out onto the deck. It's cool - although October in Amalthea is nowhere near as cool as it is in Panem at this time of year - and I'm grateful that I had the foresight to put a jacket in my backpack before I left the hotel. I've just slipped my arms into it, and am sinking into one of the Adirondack chairs clustered around a portable fire pit when I hear the door open behind me.

And not for the first time, I wonder what the fuck I'm doing.

"You're the last person I expected to see here," he starts, and I take a deep breath before I turn to face him; when I do, I curse internally. I hate the fact that the photos of him I'd seen on his account haven't done him justice - but I mostly hate the fact that he's only gotten better with age. At 27, he'd still had an element of boyish handsomeness to him that he'd just been starting to grow out of. Less than three years later, Peeta Mellark is undeniably, undoubtedly, a man. A very, very hot man.

I slide my sunglasses back down over my eyes, and try not to be obvious in my perusal of him; the blond hair less styled than I remember, the light shading of growth that travels across his jaw, the thick black-rimmed glasses that provide a wall between me and the eyes as blue as the ocean next to us. His shoulders are broader, and the rolled up sleeves of his shirt show off forearms that perfectly straddle the line between muscular and lean.

And here I am, in faded old jeans that probably still have sand from Bali dried into the hem, and a thrift store t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve and _My Goodness, My Guinness_ scrawled across the front.

"Hello Peeta," I greet him.

"Hello Katniss," he replies, closing the door behind him before he begins to cross to me. He stops further away than his partner did, and doesn't size me up the way she did either. "You're a long way from home. Still footloose and fancy free?"

His words are smooth, free of inflection, and I hate him for how good at this he is. He always had the words, always knew what to say. _"You're a born wordsmith, kid,"_ I remember Haymitch telling him when he'd given a speech at his oldest brother's engagement party. Some things never change.

I nod slightly. "To a degree."

I watch as he runs his tongue across the top of his teeth, taking a moment before he drops into the seat across from me. "What's brought you here, then? Still traveling?"

I open my mouth, then close it again. All the words I'd been practicing in my head over three different flights have gone, leaving me with nothing. I thought I'd been prepared for this, but now that the moment's here, I'm anything but.

"Katniss?" This time, when he speaks, his voice has hardened slightly. "Katniss, what are you doing here?"

"I...I…" I must look like a fish, all this gaping that I'm doing, trying to find the words that have escaped me. All I want to tell him is that I'm sorry, that I hope he's happy, that he's much, _much_ better off without me, but I can't. Sarcasm, I'm a pro. This, I'm utterly hopeless.

He shakes his head, lowers it into his hands. I look away out to the sunset, the awkwardness of it all making me desperately wish I'd never bothered to come.

Then from the corner of my eye, I see him slowly lift his head, and rest his right foot on the edge of the chair next to him.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

* * *

The sun is completely gone by the time I stumble down the street back to the hotel, his final words still ringing in my ears.

" _Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if you'd said yes when I asked. Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if you'd said yes when I asked. Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if you'd said yes when I asked."_

It's like I'm listening to one of the 45s my dad used to love, and the needle is stuck and the shitty part of the verse I hate is just repeating itself over and over again.

His girlfriend had interrupted us at that very moment, stepping onto the deck and holding out his iPhone, telling him a Ms Trinket was on the line; fortuitous timing or not, I don't know. All I know is that I'd taken the opportunity to get out of there as quickly as possible, mumbling half-assed apologies as I'd squeezed past the brunette and practically run out onto the main street.

 _Go home, Katniss. Just go home. There's no need for you to be here._

I race past the concerned looking clerk manning the front desk, not even bothering with the elevator to get me to my second floor room. I take the steps two at a time, bursting into my room and heading straight for the shower the moment I get inside. I set the water to steaming - after so many years of lukewarm or even downright freezing hostel showers, I'm going to use all the damn boiling water in the world that I can - and strip off, not caring where my clothes fall as I step under the spray. I scrub my skin until it's bright red and tingling, fairly certain that I've scraped away a couple of layers, but it doesn't help. I don't know why I thought it would.

His words, and the memory of why he said them, just won't go away.

The water is tepid when I finally shut it off, dragging the thick, plush towel from the rail and wrapping it around me, not even bothering to wring out my hair. I'll regret it later, but right now, I just don't care.

My backpack is buzzing against the wooden top of the desk as I step out of the bathroom, and I blindly reach into the front pocket for my phone. A couple of notifications for emails, a missed call from Prim, two texts from her.

 _Received: 4:32pm. Hey, how're things going? You back from Peeta's yet?_

 _Received: 6:02pm. Are you asleep again? What's happening?_

I don't have the energy - or the courage, let's be perfectly honest - to tell her what's happened, so my reply is brief and untrue.

 _Sent: 6:03pm. So exhausted, about to crash again. But everything is okay. :)_

* * *

By midday, I've got my plans for departure locked in - I can't get a flight until tomorrow night, but it's the best I can do. There's no point sticking around here any longer, not after the way Peeta reacted yesterday. I figure I can just hole up in the hotel to avoid any accidental run-ins; the more I can try and prevent seeing him, the better. Because for all my bluster, all my good intentions of being absolutely fine and confident and saying sorry, I'd immediately buckled under the pressure. Seeing him again has affected me more than I thought it would.

He's the only person I've ever let my guard down to completely - the one person who knew the truth about how much my parents bitter and ugly divorce had affected me, who knew the abandonment I'd felt when my mom had fought for sole custody just to spite my dad, who'd died only a matter of years later, with neither Prim nor myself having seen him again. He was the one person who knew the truth about the pills my mom had popped as a result, the men she'd brought home to fill the void of the man she'd never really gotten over, despite everything that had happened. Who knew, more than anyone, that I wanted to avoid all the mistakes my parents had made, the mess they'd made of their lives and the lives of two little girls who'd had no choice in the matter. And yet he'd still asked me to marry him, when he'd always known it wasn't in the cards for me.

I figure I should at least go down to the hotel restaurant for lunch, instead of spending the entire time ruminating about the past in my room, and start to trudge down the stairs. My mind is still insisting on repeating Peeta's words from last night back to me, over and over again, and I guess it's only my luck that the first person I see as I step out into the lobby is him.

He's seated in a plush, upholstered high-backed chair, his right foot propped on his left knee while his hand taps an absent rhythm on his thigh. He's not watching for me; his eyes are trained on the phone in his hand, and I'm briefly considering making a run for it back upstairs when he looks up, his gaze locking with mine. We're locked in a silent staring tug of war until he finally speaks.

"I thought you said you weren't running anymore," Peeta says bluntly.

"I'm not," I reply automatically.

He lifts his eyebrow, condescension written all over his face. "Funny, the way you left my studio last night looked suspiciously like running."

I wrinkle my nose. "You were busy-"

"That's a pitiful excuse, and you know it." He rises to his feet, crossing to me while he slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans. The blue and black plaid shirt he wears is a bit of a surprise - I've never pegged him as a plaid man, not in all the years I've known him - but much like everything else he's ever worn, it looks good.

"I didn't know what to say," I shrug.

"The truth might have been a good start."

I glance around me at the other people in the lobby; while most are absorbed in their own doings, there are a few giving us curious glances, and I don't want to have this kind of conversation in a place as public as this.

"Can we not talk about this here?"

Peeta glances around, and it's clear by the look on his face that he doesn't care. But I have to give him points because he nods, and lets me lead him out the back of the lobby to the outdoor pool area I'd spied when I'd first checked in. It's too cold to swim - how was I only at the beach less than a week ago, sweat dripping into my eyes? - so the porch beside it is empty. I take a seat at one of the tables, wait for him to do the same.

"How did you find me?" I ask.

"I could say the same," he replies blithely, and waits, clearly not planning on telling me how he tracked me down. I guess, for him, it wouldn't be hard. Ask around town a little, I'm sure he would have gotten an answer quick enough.

"Instagram," I finally say, and a sound that I can only describe as a combination of a scoff and a laugh falls from his lips.

"Well I never would have guessed that that, of all things, would be what dragged you back into my life."

I lift a hand to my forehead, rub away the headache that's threatening to form. I knew he wouldn't be happy to see me, that he'd be angry, but this...this isn't the Peeta the remember, and it kind of kills me that what I did has caused it.

"Peeta, please, don't be like that."

"Like what?"

"I'm here, trying to be civil. Trying to-"

He cuts me off before I can finish. "Trying to what, Katniss? What are you doing in Amalthea?"

It's like with every sharp sentence he's goading me, so I can't help the words that I suddenly blurt out. "I'm just fucking trying to say I'm sorry!" It's quiet around us, so the words echo through the porch, and I cringe. "And that wasn't how I wanted to say it."

"You wanted to say you're sorry?" His voice is full of scorn. "Well, if that's the case, you're a few damn years too late."

"I know! And I can't help that. But you wanted to know why I was here, and that's why. I wanted to say sorry, and just...and just make sure you were happy and…" I trail off, reach up to tug my braid over my shoulder so I can wrap the end around my pointer finger. I sound so stupid - words might be Peeta's thing, but they've most definitely never been mine.

"You came here because you wanted to make sure I was _happy_?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you, Katniss. You just show up, out of the blue - I mean, did you even think this through?"

 _No. No I didn't._

"Do you really think showing up now would make things okay? That it would make up for you dropping out of my life without even giving us a chance to sort things out after we fought?" His eyes are too bright, too intense, almost like he's feverish. "You just fucking left me, and broke my heart while you were at it."

I feel my eyes fill with tears, though there's nothing he's saying that isn't true, and that's probably what hits me the most. It's the stone cold, hard-to-face truth.

And then he lands the killer blow, what I realize has eaten away at him more than anything.

"And you left me for Hawthorne. I mean...fucking Hawthorne! It could have been anyone, and it had to be _him_."

It wasn't that Gale and Peeta hadn't gotten along. They'd been friendly enough, though more of friends by association than friends; my best friend in high school, and the photographer boyfriend I'd met working as a hiking guide in Panem. They'd talked when in social situations, had gone out on boys nights with the other guys in our extended social circle. There'd just always been an underlying tension there that I'd never picked up on, never noticed. Not until Peeta had admitted to me that he didn't like the way Gale sometimes looked at me. I'd brushed it off as stupid guy shit, but looking back now, and _knowing_ what I know, brushing it off had just been the start of my troubles.

"I didn't leave you for him, Peeta," I retort. "I didn't go with him because I wanted to be with him. He just gave me the escape route I needed." I feel the horror well up as what I've just said hits me. _Oh shit, Katniss. What did you just say?_

"Escape route." He repeats my sentence back to me, rubs the heel of his palm across his chest as though I've hit him with a sledgehammer. "Holy shit, Katniss. You needed to _escape_ me?"

My hand drops to my lap, twines and twists with the other. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"No, I don't."

I shake my head, harder than I mean to. "No, I didn't need to escape you. I just...I needed to get away, from everything, and he was going. So I went too."

"And how long did it take you to fall into bed with him?" He almost sneers the question, and I swallow hard, my stomach pitching out. The way he says it makes me feel dirty, like I continued to betray him even after we were over.

"What makes you think I did?"

"You going to try and tell me you didn't?" He shakes his head, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth before slowly letting it back out. "That's bullshit, he wouldn't have let the opportunity pass him by. I think, after everything, I at least deserve the truth."

I refuse to acknowledge his comment about the opportunity passing Gale by, because I don't even want to think about that. "Why do you need to know? Why is it so important? Why do you think it matters?"

He does nothing but stare at me for a moment, and I remember all the times his eyes had stared at me for much nicer reasons than this. "It matters to me. I want to know how long you waited before you replaced me."

I hate that I've made him think that way, that anything that had happened between me and Gale had been about replacing him. How does he not understand that it had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me? Me, and my ability to ruin all the good things in my life, emulating the two people I never wanted to?

And the worst thing is that, right now, I'm going to have to be honest with him. I don't want to be, but I also don't want to lie to him again. "Peeta, I know you want me to say it was a day, a week, a month, but it was none of those. If you really, absolutely, positively need to know…" I pause for a moment, hoping to get a reprieve, but his expression never changes, "It was well over a year before anything happened between Gale and I. But it wasn't serious. It...it meant nothing."

There is complete honesty in the words I've said; I'm not saying them to appease Peeta, not saying them to make myself feel better. Over the last few days, it's what I've come to realize as to why I was never as upset or as hurt as I should have been when I found him with Leevy, why I'd never thought about things getting too serious with him, why I'd never even worried about making the type of mistakes my parents had made.

Because he was Gale, and while he was my friend and I cared about him, he'd really never been anything more. We'd both known it the day we'd said goodbye.

"Is he here with you?" I watch as his gaze lifts slightly, as though he can see through the ceiling into my hotel room.

"No. I'm alone."

"So it _was_ him that drove you here."

I shake my head. "I'm not here to talk about Gale, I was just here to speak to you. And now that I have, I'm going to go home to Prim tomorrow, spend some time with her. You don't have to worry about ever seeing me in Amalthea again."

Peeta rises to his feet, shrugs disinterestedly. "From this afternoon, I'm out of town for the next two weeks, so do whatever you want, whenever you want." I feel the pang at his words as he begins to walk away, a sharp stab to the chest, and I don't want him to leave here with those being the last words between us.

"I was telling the truth when I told you that I wanted to make sure you were happy, Peeta," I call out, my voice cracking on his name, and he pauses. He doesn't turn to face me, but at least he's listening. "And it looks like you are. You've got a nice home here, and I'm glad that you've found someone. I wish you all the best together."

He doesn't say anything, just tips his head slightly, and walks in the door back to the hotel lobby.

* * *

I stay inside for the rest of the day, watching mindless television, and figure that the conversation probably went as well as it ever could have. It had always been a stupid idea - I still don't know how the hell I'd thought it was a good one while I was in Bali - but now I can at least try and start over. Tomorrow I can look around town, then go home knowing that I've done what I came here to do.

I said sorry, which is the one thing neither of my parents said.

That night, I sleep for close to 16 hours straight - jetlag is a bitch, and it's never something my body has been able to get used to, even after all these years - and it's well past 11am when I finally leave the hotel. Fatigue and my conversation with Peeta yesterday drags at me, and the only thing I can think of is _coffee_.

I shove a wad of notes in my front pocket and clasp my phone in hand as I make my way down the main street, ready to explore with the knowledge that Peeta is gone and there's no chance of running into him during my final few hours here. A Monday morning means more locals and less visitors, and I'm grateful that the sidewalks aren't as busy as they had been over the weekend. It gives me time to study the town more - the mix of old buildings and new, of old-fashioned white-washed timber shop-fronts, the glossy chrome and glass of cafés and restaurants, the slick design of boutique accommodation.

I reach the end of the street - the opposite end to Peeta's studio, where it's much busier - and turn right towards the beach and the collection of buildings just along the shorefront. Most are high-scale restaurants, clearly gaining the majority of their clientele as a result of the stunning views, but tucked into the end is a small café, the sign on the front proclaiming that they have freshly made eclairs, the best in the country.

My stomach rumbles, and I feel like I should test their claim.

I step inside, noting immediately that it's more than half full of customers, and am pleasantly surprised at how unpretentious it is compared to the restaurants that surround it. The floors are light wood and worn smooth from years of use, the tables white with clusters of mismatched, multi-colored metal chairs tucked into them. A group of booths line the back wall - or back window more like it, the entire thing is glass and allows the expanse of the ocean to almost become a part of the room - with cushions covered in geometric patterns in lemon yellow and neon pink and sky blue inviting the diner to sink into them and enjoy the view.

I study the drink menu that's scrawled high on the wall on a painted blackboard before stepping forward to the counter to order my drink. It's still cool, and I don't think I've ever been more grateful for the month of October. I haven't had a pumpkin spice latte for far too long, and I want one today.

"Katniss?"

I turn at the sound of my name out of habit more than anything - I'm fairly certain that I'm the only Katniss in about a hundred thousand mile radius, so they have to be talking to me - and am surprised to see Peeta's girlfriend behind me, her blunt bangs brushing against the top of her raised eyebrows.

"You are still here."

I nod, unsure what else to say.

"Good. I would like to talk with you."

I blink. "What?"

She points to me, before pointing back at her chest. "You. And me. We should talk."

"Um…I don't even know you."

"Johanna Mason," she says bluntly, then peers around me to the young guy manning the counter, telling him to make her a chocolate milkshake as well as a coffee, and whatever it is I want. I stutter out my order, and put my cash away when she bats - not even lightly - at my hand, in a motion that tells me I'm not paying and I'm not to argue.

"My tab," she says simply. "Now come, sit, stay. We have coffee together."

I bite down on my lower lip, utterly confused by this woman and how willing she seems to be to talk to me. She'd treated me like I was nothing but gum on the bottom of her shoe when we were in Peeta's studio, _and_ she should hate me for treating Peeta the way that I did - though I guess maybe she's grateful that because of my fuck up, she gets to have him. But whatever the reason for this 'chat', it can't be good.

"Are you...are you sure?" I reply tentatively. "Peeta might not like it." He most definitely will _not_.

She rolls her eyes and turns her back to me, clomping over to the corner booth, the laces on the scuffed, almost military style boots she wears trailing across the spotless floor. She beckons me over with an impatient hand, and I'm barely sliding into the seat across from her when she starts talking again. "Do not worry about that dummkopf," she starts, resting her arms across the back of her seat. "He does not scare me."

Peeta? _Scare_ anyone? Of course not. "I didn't think he would," I start carefully. "But he might not like the two of us talking. After what I did to him -"

"Which was shit," she tells me matter-of-factly, and I feel my cheeks color, though I barrel on as though she hasn't interrupted me.

"-he might find this weird. And I don't want him to think I'm trying to be friends with you so I can try and get back onto his good side."

"Pfffffft." She blows a breath out between her teeth, waits while a perky woman in her early twenties with a topknot and braces places our drinks and my eclair in front of us. "Peeta is all…" she pauses, staring up at the ceiling while she tries to find the phrase, her hands turning in slow circles as though the movement will help her thought process. "He is all words. He will tell me he won't like us talking, but he won't stop me and I will not care."

"Why do you even want to talk to me, though? You weren't exactly friendly to me the other day."

"I am not friendly to anyone," Johanna says bluntly. "But you are interesting, and I am curious and nosy. I know there are things Peeta has not shared with me."

I'll give her points for honesty - I get the feeling Johanna is the most filter-free person I've ever met in my life, and I've met plenty of people who've not been afraid to say what they want.

"Well, I just don't want to make things weird between you," I tell her, picking up my coffee to take a sip, savoring the warmth and the taste as it slides down my throat. Oh my god, I've missed this drink.

She smirks. "Ha! He once saw me naked in the shower, so this will be nothing."

I start to reply, then stop.

 _Wait, what?_

 _Once?_

The sudden thought hits me that Peeta - freaking Good Samaritan Peeta Mellark - might be in a relationship for the purpose of a green card, and I choose my next words carefully. "Johanna...do you mind me asking how long you and Peeta have been together for?"

She's just lifted her own mug to her lips and at my question she sputters loudly, spraying a mouthful of coffee all over the table. Spots of liquid hit the back of my hands where they rest in front of me, and I'm too shocked at her reaction to even wipe them away.

"Me and...and _Peeta_?" Johanna laughs, swiping her sleeve across her mouth. "That is funny! You are a comedian!"

"I'm not trying to be funny," I retort indignantly. "I just-"

"You thought we were a couple," she interrupts, then laughs again. It's a weird sound, almost as though she's managed to infuse it with mockery and sarcasm - I'm almost jealous at her ability to do so. It feels like forever that she continues to laugh for, though I know hardly ten seconds have passed before she speaks again. "No, we are just friends. I just help him at the studio sometimes. I am dating Aaran."

My mouth drops open, her words the last thing I expected to fall from her lips.

"His brother?" I ask.

She nods, waves a hand around the café. "This is his. It will be mine, too, when he decides to stop being stubborn and get married. This is why I buy you coffee. He will pay for it."

I lower my head into my hands, the information she's laid on me almost overwhelming. Not only is Peeta _not_ dating her, but she's dating Aaran, who owns this café. Which means Peeta's brother lives here too.

But more than anything, it means Peeta's single.

"What is wrong?" I feel her finger poke the back of my hand, and I lift my head to look at her again. "You are upset?"

"No, just…I thought you were with Peeta. You were all over his Instagram, and I thought he was happy with someone. I thought he had gotten what he'd deserved. I thought..."

Her eyebrows draw together. "Is that why you are here? To make sure he was happy?"

I take a moment before I reply, lowering my hands down so they can cup around my rapidly cooling mug. "Partially," I say carefully. "I wanted to say sorry too, but he wasn't too keen to hear that yesterday."

She pulls a face, switches from her coffee to her milkshake, taking a loud slurp. "He is hurt. And stubborn, like his brother. He will come round."

"It's fine," I shrug. "I've done what I needed to do. I can go home and start over now." I reach out for the eclair, taking a huge bite so that my mouth is filled with cream and pastry and I don't have to say anything more.

"No, it is not time for you to go home yet," Johanna informs me firmly. "Peeta told me you are a traveler. Do you not want to see more of here?"

I shrug, think of the pretty photos of Amalthea that had shown up on Peeta's Instagram feed. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good. Then you come stay with me."

I'm glad I haven't taken a mouthful of my own drink, otherwise she'd be wearing mine the way I'm wearing hers. "What the hell are you talking about?" Is this woman insane? Inviting a complete stranger who fucked over her future brother-in-law to stay with her?

"Stay here for some time. Explore. It is a pretty place, lots around it. And hotels are expensive. Stay with me, I have a room."

"But...but Aaran…"

She taps the corner of her nose. "He is away with Peeta for two weeks. No problem."

"Johanna, I…" I trail off, look at her imploringly. "I don't know you. You don't know me. All you know about me is what I did to Peeta. Why would you even want to offer that? It's ridiculous."

"It is no such thing, do not be brainless. I do things because I want to, and I want to do this." She impatiently pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "And you stayed in hostels while travelling, ya?"

"Um...yes."

"Then this is no different. You have lived with people much worse than me. And even better because we will not share room. You have no reason to say no."

Yes I do. A million reasons, but none more so important than that Peeta lives here.

 _But he's not here for the next two weeks._

That little inner voice, the one that's gotten me in trouble so many damn times, rears it's head, and _yes_ is coming out of my mouth before my brain even has a chance to compute what I'm saying. I don't know why I'm saying yes. I don't know this person, and she doesn't know me. I still don't understand why she offered.

But she did.

"Good!" She replies, then leans forward in her seat. "Now let us talk about Instagram. You are a stalker?"

The incredulity of it all makes me laugh.

* * *

"So when do you think you'll be back in Panem?"

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, pondering Prim's question. Beside me on the hotel bed is my backpack, all my belongings shoved in it and ready to be carried to Johanna and Aaran's townhome, three streets back and two blocks over. I'll admit that I haven't been looking forward to this phone call. Since I'd spoken to her in Bali, she's emailed or messaged me constantly, and I've given her hints and bits of pieces of updates here and there. But I know she was hoping I'd be home now, or at least have a date to give her for when I'd be back, and I hate the fact that I'm likely to disappoint her.

"Before Thanksgiving, for certain. But anything more concrete than that, I'm sorry, Little Duck, I'm still not sure. There's just some things I need to do before I can come home." I don't tell her that, after seeing Peeta, I've realized that I hadn't completely prepared myself for stepping back into a place filled with my past with Peeta. I'm not sure I can face that just yet - saying sorry has been tough enough.

"I know you do," Prim says quietly. "And I'm really proud of you for doing it, too. It's just...I miss you. Two weeks in Italy eighteen months ago hasn't cut it, Kat."

The memory of us throwing coins into the Trevi Fountain, gorging on thin-crust margherita pizza, wandering the streets of Florence and taking gondola rides in Venice, is a timely reminder of how much I've missed my little sister. I know she's had study and work and a boyfriend and Haymitch and friends to keep her occupied, but still.

"I know it hasn't. But you also know why I have to do this, right? Why I needed to apologize to him?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do. I just wish you'd done it sooner."

I feel the lump form in my throat at her words, feel the guilt eke through. "I can't change the past, Prim," I whisper. "Which is why I'm here."

"I know." I imagine her curled up in the armchair in our living room, her chin tucked into the palm of her free hand. "Promise I'll see you soon?"

"I promise."

* * *

Staying with Johanna takes me back to part of the time Gale and I had spent in Berlin. We'd been on the road for seven months by then, picking up odd jobs here and there to supplement the savings we'd taken with us. We'd both received - and saved - inheritances from our fathers when they'd passed away, and with that buffer there for any flights and trains we needed to take, we only ever had to worry about day to day expenses. We'd picked fruit, manned stalls at street markets, worked for room and board in the hostels we'd stayed in - hell, I'd even busked on street corners, making some of the best money we had. By the time we got to Berlin, we'd already couchsurfed through Rotterdam, Cologne and Dortmund, and figured we could continue to save even more money by avoiding hostels for at least part of our time in Berlin. So for two weeks we'd stayed with a couple who loved beer, soccer - or football, as they called it - and worked in IT.

And subtlety had _not_ been their middle name.

They'd gotten into arguments at the drop of a hat (ridiculous things, like about how much milk Lena poured on her cereal), and Jonas would complain about politics, the media, anything he could think of, every chance he got. She'd bitch to me about how much of a _arschgesicht_ Jonas was, then would make out with him enthusiastically on the sofa, right beside us. Things still hadn't changed between Gale and I, but both of them were convinced that we were a couple, and they'd reference it every moment they could, no matter how many times we protested. And although it's not quite as colorful living with Johanna as it had been with them, the memory is still there every time she drops a curse in German - which is often - or when she talks about the upcoming round in the Bundesliga.

By the end of my second night staying with her, I'd gotten the rundown of her relationship with Aaran - they'd met in Amalthea at the wedding of a mutual friend that had taken place a week after I'd left - and how he'd loved the town so much after his visit, he'd returned to open the café within less than a year, Peeta in tow to set up a new studio as his reputation had grown. She'd arrived a month later, packing up her life in Germany to be with Aaran, aided by the citizenship she'd obtained as a child as a result of her American father.

The next day, she'd taken time off from the café to drive me to the mountains about half an hour away, the pine trees high and lush and reaching for the sky, after we'd discovered a mutual love of the outdoors. We'd hiked for well over an hour before we'd sat down and taken a break, her telling me about the one girlfriend Peeta had had, a schoolteacher who'd taken the opportunity to transfer to Texas, where her parents had retired to. She hadn't even been sure if they'd discussed the option of him going with her - all Johanna knew was that one week, they were together, and the next, she was in Texas, and he was single.

She's a fount of information, and I wonder why she's being so honest with me, or why she's even bothering to give me the time of day.

It's on the Friday night - after she let me borrow her car and drive down the coast for a couple of hours while she was at work - that she tells me. We're in the living room of her townhome, two bottles of wine - one empty, the other half so - between us, when I finally find the courage to ask.

"Johanna?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you ask me to stay with you? And don't say _because_ _I wanted to_. It doesn't really feel like enough…"

She rests her head against the back of the sofa, takes another sip of wine. "Because I did what you did," she tells me quietly. It's probably the quietest she's ever spoken, and as a result, I don't say anything; I just wait for her to finish. "It was before I met Aaran, while I was still in Bremen. Max and I had been together for a long time, but I did not see a future with him, so I left. We fought, and did not end things in a nice way; he was very angry. I wish it had not happened the way it did, but I never spoke to him again. I never got the chance to. Six months later he was electrocuted and he died."

I inhale sharply, almost drop my glass. "I'm sorry."

Johanna waves a hand at me absentmindedly. "I am not the one to be sorry for. I wish things had been different in the way it ended, I will always regret not speaking to him better. So I think it is good that you have come back, that you are trying to make it right. I respect you for wanting to sorry." She pauses. "But I also did not want your final impression of my home to be a bad one, so I asked you to stay. I hope you like it more now."

"I do," I reply, and it's the truth. There's a very good chance had I left immediately, that I would never have looked back on Amalthea fondly. Now, I think I can, and I will. "But…"

"But?"

"There's one big difference between us."

"Hmmmm?" Johanna goes to take another sip before she realizes her glass is empty, topping both hers and mine up while she looks at me expectantly.

"I didn't end things with Peeta because I couldn't see a future there. It was...it was the opposite. All I could see _was_ a future, and the minute he got down on one knee, I could see it all laid out in front of me. And suddenly I wanted it, wanted it more than anything. But it was something I'd always told myself I was never going to have, that ever since I was a kid I'd never wanted to have. So instead we fought, and I left."

There it is. What I've been lying about all these years, the biggest lie I've ever told. I'd told it to myself, to him, to Prim, to Haymitch. _It's not what I want_ , I'd told them all.

But it was exactly what I wanted. And _that_ was what made me run away.

Her mouth is gaping open when I chance a glance at her. "Why did you not tell him?"

My lips press together. "I don't know. I just couldn't. It was like...I thought if I did this, I'd be betraying myself, doing something I'd always said I'd never do. I thought it would be easier if I left," I admit.

"Life is not always meant to be easy. And easy is not always the answer."

I nod. "I know."

"Do you wish you had done things differently?"

I don't reply immediately, taking another sip of my wine before I manage to speak.

"Yes."

* * *

By Wednesday, I know I should start planning my departure. I've had a surprisingly fun time staying with Johanna - at night, we'd watched trash TV and argued over whether _Lost_ or _How I Met Your Mother_ had the worst ending, while during the day she'd mostly left me to my own devices, and I'd spent it wandering the streets and beaches. It's been relaxing in probably all the ways I needed it to be after so long on the road; working and traveling from place to place with another person has me appreciating the time exploring on my own. But while my postponed flight to Panem allows me another 5 weeks before I forfeit the airfare - and there's enough in and around Amalthea to keep me occupied for plenty of time longer - I don't need to be here that long. Peeta and Aaran are due home on the weekend, and I don't think either of them would want to return to find me here.

So of course, I don't expect raised voices to rouse me from my sleep late that night, with my name more predominant than I'd like.

" _Katniss_ is here? What the _fuck_ , Jo? You don't even know her! What were you thinking?"

"I was helping her! Katniss is trying to make good, and you are being stubborn!"

"I'm being _stubborn_?!"

"Yes! And she is just saying sorry."

"Oh because _sorry_ instantly makes everything right."

"Not always, no. But she is trying. Have you ever not made a mistake, Peeta?!"

"Guys, come on-"

"Shut up, Aaran!"

Two voices echo the sentiment at the same time, and I yank the sheet over my head, groaning softly. This is _exactly_ what I didn't want to happen, and now it was. I should have just gone home last week when I was supposed to.

But Johanna doesn't deserve to be facing the music instead of me.

I shove the sheet back, reluctantly pull my bra on under the tank I've been sleeping in. My sleep shorts are short - probably too short for the conversation I'm about to have - but I don't care. I need to break up whatever is going on.

I step out, pushing my braid over my shoulder as all three people in the small living room turn to face me. The physical sight of Aaran - virtually unchanged, except for the stubby little ponytail that his hair is held back in - throws me back to when we first met, when he'd been a woman-crazy douchebag who'd tried to hit on Madge any time he saw her. The realization that I've missed him too is a surprise, but Peeta's brothers had become as much mine during the 4 years we'd dated.

And then I look at Peeta, arms folded across his chest, face like a thundercloud. And I falter.

"Sorry to interrupt," I start. "But I feel like Johanna is being unfairly treated for just trying to help me out. If you want to yell at anyone, yell at me."

"No one is yelling at anyone!" Johanna yells.

"Jo-Jo-"

"Do not Jo-Jo me," she snaps, whirling on Aaran. "This is my home too, and I can do what I want." Then she turns to Peeta, pointing her finger at him. "And you, do not come here and tell me what to do. She cannot change the past, but she is trying to make amends."

"You've got no idea what you've involved yourself in, Jo," Peeta snaps, and I hold up a hand.

"Hey! I already told you not to have a go at her."

Peeta glowers. "Why are you here?"

"Because Johanna was trying to be nice," I tell him, and ignore the smirk that appears on Aaran's face. "Because she wanted me to be able to see and enjoy Amalthea before I went home. Because-"

"Because I did not want her to be like me and Max," Johanna interrupts, and I see realisation replace Aaran's smirk.

"Shit, Jo. That's an entirely different situation," he tells her, his hand reaching out for hers.

"Not now, but it could be. I still left and I never said sorry." She turns back to Peeta. "She is trying to do the right thing. She might be brainless, but she is not completely stupid." Wow, her recommendations are absolutely glowing.

"No. No, Katniss is not stupid," Peeta agrees, and although I can't look directly at him, I can sense that the heat of his gaze has dropped several degrees. "She never was."

" _And_ people change, you know," Johanna continues.

He looks over at her wryly. "Oh really? Like you, huh?"

"Yes." She juts her chin out. "Like me. I am not so bossy anymore."

The scoffs from both brothers would be humorous in any other situation.

"You need to give her a chance," Johanna continues. "At least talk without fighting."

I came out here to defend myself, to be yelled at, to take the heat off Johanna, and yet all I've done is stand here and listen to them talk. It's about time that I do.

I take a step forward. "Look, I don't expect you to forgive me, Peeta. I honestly did just come here to tell you that I was sorry, with zero expectations," I start, lifting my hands imploringly. "And afterwards, I only stayed because Johanna offered to let me, so I could see Amalthea for a little while before I returned home. That's all. I'm not here...I'm not here to ruin your life." I see Johanna and Aaran exchange a look out of the corner of my eye and watch as Peeta removes his glasses, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Nobody says anything, and I take it as my cue to leave. I turn back to Johanna. "I'll just go and pack my things, go find a hotel-"

"You will do no such thing," she snaps. "It is 11 o'clock at night."

"There's no need for you to leave," Aaran agrees.

I look over at Peeta, and I see him studying me as though he's never seen me before; it feels like forever before he speaks. "You don't need to go anywhere. This is Johanna and Aaran's home. If they want you to stay, you can."

He slips his glasses back on and crosses to Jo, pressing a kiss to her temple while she bats him away, then clasps a hand on Aaran's shoulder and squeezes it before he moves to the front door. He turns around and looks straight at me, something warring across his face that I don't recognize.

"You can come to the studio tomorrow," he finally says. "I should show you what I've done while you've been away." And with that, he steps outside.

My mouth drops open in shock.

* * *

"I want to hate you, you know."

It's early - stupid early, considering I didn't end up falling asleep until close to 1am - but the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen had been too strong a lure to stay asleep any longer. I'd stumbled into the kitchen to find Johanna perched on a stool at the counter while Aaran stood at the stove, cooking the aforementioned bacon. 20 minutes later, I've almost devoured the plate of food he'd placed in front of me once I'd sat down next to Johanna and now that she's in the bathroom getting ready for work, I've found myself alone with him.

I'm not surprised that this conversation is about to happen.

"I don't blame you," I tell him, keeping my eyes firmly on my plate. "I've done a pretty good job of hating myself."

"I mean, I did, we _all_ did, for a long time. He was a mess," Aaran replies, and it's clear that he's shoved a piece of food in his mouth because his words are muffled when he speaks again. "Like, you totally fucked him over."

"I _know_ ," I grit out, scowling up at him - like he's not telling me something I'm already completely aware of? "It's why I'm here."

He nods, continues to munch on his food. "So why didn't you tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

"That you wanted to say yes when he asked you."

I choke on the bite of toast I've taken before I shoot a glare towards the closed bathroom door. "Geez, did she tell you everything I told her?"

"Just the important stuff," he says cheerily. "I guess that's why I can't hate you, because you still love the schmuck."

My cheeks pinken as I glance back at him. "I never said that to Johanna."

"You didn't need to. It's written all over your face."

I lift a hand to my cheek, as though I'll somehow find words etched into my skin, but of course there's nothing there.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter.

He rolls his eyes. "I hate to tell you, Katniss, but you're not that good an actress. Peeta might believe that you don't care about him anymore, but he's got a few layers of hurt to scrape through before he can believe anything even close to that." He plucks the final rasher of bacon from my plate, waves it in front of me. "Just don't fuck up again, Everdeen. I don't forgive people twice, you know."

"I don't expect you to forgive me once," I tell him quietly. "That's not what I'm here for."

"I know it's not." He shrugs, biting into the piece of bacon. "But I always liked you - you were like a non-annoying little sister. You just...made some mistakes." He stands up, reaching out a hand to ruffle my sleep-mussed ponytail as he passes on his way to their bedroom. "But don't worry, so did he. And he knows that too."

* * *

Peeta's already in the main part of the studio when I arrive, his back to me as he hangs a framed photo up on the wall. The subject is one that's familiar to me from a vacation I'd taken with my family before everything had fallen apart - it's a lookout just on the outskirts of Capitol City, the city itself cupped in the valley of the mountains that curve around the horizon.

"That's a nice shot," I start, and he turns abruptly, the surprise at my appearance clear on his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay," he replies, though the stiffness in both his shoulders and his voice say otherwise. "I didn't hear the door chime."

I take another step forward, allowing the door to close completely behind me, and I vaguely wonder if he's as nervous as I am. Probably not. "I, um, didn't know what time you wanted me to come over, so…"

"Now's fine," Peeta says immediately. "I've got a client coming over in about an hour, but now works fine."

I nod, and then we both stand there in silence. Because, clearly, things can't get any _more_ awkward than they already are.

I reach up and tug on the end of my braid. He's hardly even looking at me, his eyes darting here, there and everywhere; I don't even know why I bothered to put any thought into the outfit I wear today. It was one of my few 'nice' outfits I'd carted around with me all over the globe - a fitted pair of jeans and a tailored blouse the color of water-logged moss. I could be wearing a sack, though, for all the attention he's paying to me. "So, uh, you wanted to show me what you've been working on?"

"Yeah." He turns back around to face the wall. "I took this one last week while Aaran and I were in Capitol City. He was off attending a couple of meetings with suppliers, and I had some time to kill, so I headed up to the lookout. I like the view at sunrise better because of the play of the light off the mountains, but sunset works well enough." He's kind of rambling, but I'm not going to ask him to slow down.

"You usually prefer sunset; you always have."

He glances over to another picture on the wall across from us, a sunset much like the one I'd first spied on his Instagram. "Yeah, I do." His voice is still stilted, the tension in his body still clear. And it makes me feel awful that him showing me around is having such a negative effect on him.

"Look, Peeta, you don't have to do this," I sigh. "I'll just go h-"

"No, I told you that I'd show you what I've been doing, so I will," he says firmly, then turns on his heel, walks to the other end of the room and gestures to a landscape that's been made into a canvas, as opposed to being displayed in a frame. He barely waits for me to step beside him - a good foot of space between us - before he dives into his explanation of it. "This is Lake Merchant, about half an hour away. It was one of the first places I photographed when I arrived here…"

Peeta takes me through all the photos he has displayed in the studio, as well as some in his storeroom, each one accompanied by the story of where and when he took it. It's uncomfortable at first; Peeta speaking like he's talking to a stranger, me not entirely sure what I'm meant to say, but the further we get into his collection, the more relaxed he becomes, the more he acts like the Peeta I remember. He starts to smile as he talks about working between both digital and the traditional print and darkroom he'd started out with, and for a while there I'm not even sure he realizes he's still speaking to me. It's like his love for his work overtakes whatever he feels for me, making him right in his own skin again.

He tells me how he still prefers to shoot nature, highlighting the wonders of the non-man made world. Cities are okay, he tells me, though he likes the aspect of the people he manages to capture within them. That's why he also has a lot of portraits, he explains - he likes to tell people's stories. It's why there's so many photos of Johanna on his account. _"She has no shame, no inhibition, and her face is so expressive. Some people don't like posing for you, but she loves it, always volunteers for it. Probably the attention aspect_ _\- in case you couldn't tell, she's a bit of an exhibitionist._ "

He says it with a smile on his face, and the affection that he has for her is clear. It may not be romantic, not in the way I first thought, but the relationship is clearly there.

"You've done really well, Peeta," I tell him as we look down at a portrait of another two of his friends. They're the couple I'd seen on his Instagram, her gorgeous wavy brown hair a stark contrast in color against his own bronze waves. They both have a scattering of freckles across their noses, as though they spend a lot of time in the sun. "You were always so talented; it's only right that your career has taken off the way that it has."

He glances at me, his jaw tightening. "I threw myself into my work when you left," he starts, and I wince internally. Dammit, I just _had_ to ruin things, right when he'd finally become completely relaxed. "It was all I focused on, day and night. I guess as a result, it's become more than I ever imagined, more than I'd ever hoped for." Part of me wants to make a joke, be flippant about it all. _Lucky that I left you, then!_ But I don't - I manage to hold my tongue long enough that he continues to talk. "When Aaran decided he was going to move here, it only made sense. Start over afresh. Less memories of the past. And Amalthea is inspiring. It's very pretty."

The words _I'm sorry_ have been on the tip of my tongue since I last spoke, but I stop myself from saying them. Something tells me he doesn't want to hear them right now, so instead I agree with him. "It is. I can see why you would have wanted to move here."

"It was an easy decision to make," he confirms. He steps back, leans against the wall of the storeroom. "What about you, Katniss? Do you have anything to show for your time on the road?"

His tone is placid, not accusing at all, but the question still manages to make me feel guilty. I guess even in saying sorry, you can't absolve yourself for all the things you've done wrong.

"Not really," I reply with a shrug. "I taught a bit of English in South Korea, learnt the difference between grapes in Italy - even had a guy offer me a singing contract in Stockholm when I did a little busking." The corner of his mouth turns up slightly at that, and I feel like I've won the lottery, because it's the closest thing to a genuine smile he's given _me_ in almost 3 years. "Mostly it was a lot of grunt work - picking fruit, bartending, cleaning; anything that they could pay you under the table for, really. No career to speak of."

"Sounds like you've had some experiences - that more than makes up for it, I suppose." His voice cracks slightly at the end, and I realize how much this is taking out of him - his inherent need for hospitality and civility warring with the hurt I caused.

"I guess," I reply lightly. "I-"

The sound of chimes echo through the building, and Peeta abruptly rights himself, glances at his watch. "That's my client," he says. "I should go meet with her."

"Yes, you should. I...Thank you, Peeta," I tell him sincerely. "I really appreciate you showing me around."

He shrugs, but I can see the tips of his ears have gone pink. I'd always found it adorable when we'd dated - it had happened practically every time I complimented him on _anything_ \- and the little twist in my gut tells me I still find it adorable now.

 _You still love the schmuck...it's written all over your face._

I quickly stalk back out into the main room before Aaran's words make me say something I shouldn't, and stop in my tracks when I see a woman in a fuschia pink pantsuit and sky-high nude heels, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a smooth chignon and a butterfly brooch the size of my head on her lapel.

"Oh, darling, I am looking for Peeta Mellark," she greets, every word enunciated perfectly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah, he's just coming," I reply, my eyes trained on the butterfly. How the hell is that even staying up? It looks like it weighs a tonne.

"Hi, Ms Trinket, it's good to see you again," Peeta greets from behind me, and his welcome is so smooth, so inviting. If I was his client, I'd do anything he asked me to do, just from the sound of his voice alone.

"Oh, Peeta, it's so good to see you too," she replies with a coquettish smile, and I can practically see her knees weaken. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.

I half turn to face him. "Thanks again for the tour," I say, before walking to the doorway without waiting for him to reply. I don't intend to pause, don't intend to look back. But as I open the door to step out, I do. And he's looking back at me.

For the life of me, I can't read the expression on his face.

* * *

By 8pm that night, I have a drunk Johanna on my hands, flashing around a stunning and simple diamond ring and yelling "It is about damned time!" over and over again, only interspersed with her enthusiastically kissing Aaran in the middle of the living room. Apparently the business trip he'd taken with Peeta to Capitol City had also involved a FaceTime call to Johanna's very traditional parents back in Germany to ask for their permission, and he'd been so eager to pop the question that he'd cut the trip short, hence their late night return the night before. I'm happy for them - considering I haven't seen one of them in almost 3 years, and the other I've known less than two weeks, I'm surprised at _how_ happy I am for them. These are two people who clearly love each other, two people who want to get married.

But even though I'm happy, I still manage to feel like shit, because I'm reminded again of how much I screwed up.

"You had better, Katniss! I will not take no for an answer!"

I blink, to find Johanna in front of me in my place in the armchair, her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear the question," I admit, and I cringe when she lets loose a stream of German that I'm about 1000% certain is a lewd suggestion.

Aaran laughs. "That's not very nice, Jo-Jo," he tells her, and her eyes narrow.

"You know what I said?" she demands.

"You've said it to me enough - I had to Google it," he grins, taking another sip of the beer that he holds. He looks as pleased as punch with himself, as though he's the cat who caught the canary.

The foul-mouthed canary.

She side-eyes him for a moment before turning back to me. "I said we will have an engagement party on the weekend before Thanksgiving, and you had better be there."

I flip through my mental calendar - it's three weeks away. Damn, this woman does not waste time. "I can't come back so soon, I'm sorry," I tell her regretfully.

"Then stay until the party and go home after that. Be home in time for Thanksgiving!" She announces, waving around the bottle of champagne she'd cracked open the moment they'd gotten home from their dinner and the 'walk on the beach proposal'; I'm glad the floors are wood when a spray of golden liquid shoots out. Getting champagne out of carpet is the pits. "You can do all the things that you wanted to do while here - you could even drive up the coast and climb Seam Mountain!"

I shake my head. "Johanna, I can't."

"I think you should stay," Aaran pipes up, and I glare at him.

"Whose side are you on?"

"100% unequivocally my future wife's," he says firmly, and Johanna cackles.

"See? Even he agrees. You should stay, Katniss. I insist."

"I-"

"No buts! I am certain your sister will agree that you should stay. You can call her tomorrow and tell her you will be home the week before Thanksgiving. She will be happy you have given her a date, ya?"

I glance from Johanna, who is wavering slightly on her feet, to Aaran, whose grin is as wide as the Joker's.

There is no way in hell I can say no to these people. There's a good chance they'll come after me if I do.

* * *

Prim isn't as disappointed as I thought she'd be when I tell her I won't be home for another few weeks - mostly, she's just glad that I've finally given her a date, and she's pretty damn ecstatic that I'll be home for Thanksgiving. It works out for the best, anyway - her schedule over the next few weeks is awful, barely giving her enough time to breathe, let alone see me. I fill her in on what's been happening, and she's bemused by the quick friendship that I've built up with Johanna, and still can't believe that Aaran has settled down.

"Remember when he always hit on Madge?" she laughs down the line, and I chuckle.

"He was just oblivious as to why she wasn't interested in him. He was convinced all the ladies loved him."

"Most of them did," Prim points out. "I guess he finally grew up and realized he couldn't be a player forever."

"They seem pretty happy together. It's weird that she wants me to stay for the engagement party, though, what with all that...history...but I guess it's nice."

"It _is_ nice," she agrees. "Other than myself, Madge and Delly, you've never really had a lot of girlfriends. I don't know what kind of friends you made while traveling, but it's nice that you've made one a little closer to home."

I don't tell her that there are exactly 0 people that I met along the way that I've kept in contact with, female or otherwise.

"Yeah, you're right. I mean, I'll probably never come visit her here again, but I'm certain she and Aaran will come out to Panem, visit his parents every now and then. It will be nice to catch up with her when she does that."

"You won't go back?" She sounds surprised, as though a return vacation to Amalthea would be totally expected.

"I don't think so, no," I tell her. "Peeta's here and it might just be all around weird if I started coming here to vacay."

"Never say never, Kat," she tells me firmly.

"Yeah, alright," I agree, more to appease her than out of actual agreement. I yawn and glance at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table; the ups and downs of the day have taken it out of me, and it's definitely bed time. "Anyways, I'm going to head to bed. I'll speak to you soon."

"Night Kat."

* * *

Over the next two weeks, I suddenly find myself ingratiated into the lives of Johanna and Aaran. She ropes me into doing a couple of shifts at the café when one of their waitresses calls in sick - _"I will pay you in food, just like a backpacker!"_ \- and somehow end up helping them re-stain their wooden outdoor furniture. I meet their neighbors, go shopping at the local grocery store, and virtually drink the café out of all its pumpkin spice mix.

Johanna grills me on my knowledge of German punk music, at which I come up severely lacking, while Aaran takes to tugging on my braid much like he had when we'd first met, and is more than curious about the arrow tattoo I'd had inked on my wrist in Australia. When he asks me what it means, I tell him that it's there to remind me to shoot straight.

I socialize with their friends, an eclectic group of locals who'd either grown up here or who'd moved to town throughout the years. I finally get to meet Annie and Finnick Odair, the freckled loved up couple who are well on their way to welcoming a baby, at a group BBQ at their house. She's quiet and sweet, with an unexpectedly wicked sense of humor - he's flirtatious, blatantly sexual and utterly, completely, head over heels in love with his wife. He winks at me and calls me too pure for this world when I look away from one of their displays of affection, and I tell him I've seen things he can only dream of.

Of course then he sits beside me and calls me on my bluff, which makes me all the more embarrassed.

But the people in their lives also includes Peeta, and I look up from shaking my head at a particularly bawdy joke Finnick has told to see him walking through the sliding door out onto the Odair's back deck.

I've seen him more than I expected, more than I anticipated - he's a regular at the café, often pops by the townhouse after work to catch up with Aaran. I'd even seen him in the bakery section of the grocery store one day, a loaf of sourdough in one hand and a rye in the other, where I'd scooted away before I'd been tempted to tell him to go with the sourdough. And then one afternoon, I'd watched him as he'd wandered the deserted beach, camera in hand, while I'd snuck around the rock formations at the end of the sand like a stalker.

I hadn't meant to be a stalker. But he'd been there, and I'd been there, and I hadn't been able to help but look at him.

We've talked occasionally, though he's still reserved and awkward whenever he's around me. The anger that I'd seen in him the first few times we'd spoken has dissipated, and while I can at least be grateful for that, being in such close proximity to Peeta and acting like virtual strangers just feels inherently _wrong_.

He spots me almost immediately, a slight tip of his head in my direction in recognition as he welcomes the beer handed to him. I'm not sure anyone else here knows of our history - they just know I'm an old friend of the Mellarks - and I'm not about to tell anyone either. I try not to pay too much attention to him that it would call attention to _me_ , and turn back to Finnick.

The afternoon is an enjoyable one - by the time it starts drifting into night, some of the guys have dragged patio heaters out onto the deck, and everyone is lubed up enough that embarrassing stories from our youth start to pour out. I hear about the dare Finnick had accepted in college to dress up in nothing but a strategically knotted fishing net for Halloween, the love letter Johanna had written as a girl to her favorite movie star - complete with red lipstick kiss - that had somehow found it's way from her backpack into the hands of her English teacher, the time Thresh had vomited when he'd had to stand in front of his entire tenth grade class to give a speech.

"I've got a good one about Aaran!" Peeta suddenly pipes up, and without him even saying another word, I know where he's going with this. And, as evidenced by the pink blush starting to curl up Aaran's neck and across his cheeks, so does he.

"Peet, don't you dare," Aaran hisses.

"Why not?" Peeta grins. "It's a great story."

"It is _not_!"

"Yes it is. I think everyone needs to hear this," I pipe up. I can't help it.

"I can't…"Aaran trails off and folds his arms across his chest, clearly resigning himself to his story being told.

Peeta clears his throat dramatically and leans back in his seat, throwing one arm over the back of it. It's the most I've seen him relaxed since I arrived; he's in his element, the Peeta I used to know. "So Mr Big Shot over here had started going to the gym. He'd _finally_ graduated from college-"

"Hey, these are meant to be stories from our youth!" Finnick shouts out, and Peeta shakes his head.

"Dude, seriously. Aaran's hardly even an adult now," Peeta reasons, and Finnick laughs, gesturing for Peeta to continue. "Anyway, he'd graduated from college about 6 months earlier, and had come back home to Panem thinking he was all big-shot both on and off campus. Strutting around like he owned the place, thinking all the ladies loved him-"

"It is no different now!" Johanna interjects to another round of laughter, and Aaran narrows his eyes at her.

"And so one day, after he'd spent a good hour staring at himself in the mirrors while he 'pumped iron'," Peeta lifts his hand, jerks two of his fingers in an air quote fashion, "he went to have a shower in the locker room. And someone just happened to remove all his clothes from the gym bag he'd left just outside the door of his shower…"

Aaran points his finger over at Peeta, taking over the story with a great deal less flair and far more embarrassment. For all his bravado, public nudity was _not_ Aaran's thing. "He took my clothes! All of them! Even my _towel_! I had to walk out, through the gym, and out to my car _on the main street_ at peak hour with nothing but my gym bag to cover me. And that bag wasn't flexible enough to cover both my junk _and_ my ass." Around us, people snicker, and Johanna's grin is broad, even while she reaches over and musses up his hair with her knuckles. "I even _dropped the bag_ at one stage," he adds, the mortification clear in his voice. "It's all I heard about for weeks. I couldn't even walk into Mom and Dad's bakery without all those old ladies sizing me up!"

He glares at Peeta, and I look over at him to gauge his response; I can't help but note the mischievous look on his face. "Hey, I did no such thing," Peeta insists. "It wasn't me."

"Bullshit! Of course it was you. I'd dropped you off at the bakery before I went - you were the only one who knew I was at the gym!"

"Hey, I tell no lie. Scout's Honor," Peeta replies, taking a sip of his beer.

"You weren't even a scout, you shithead. And if it wasn't you, who was it?"

Peeta's quiet for a moment, runs his tongue along the front of his teeth. "I promised I'd never tell," he announces, and the group groans, an empty beer can sailing through the air and hitting him on the bicep. "Hey, hey, hey, I'm a keeper of secrets, people!" Still more boos echo through the night, and the words are falling from my mouth before I can even stop them.

"It was me!" I announce loudly, almost surprising myself at my admittance. "I snuck into the men's locker room and took them! I was sick of seeing you walk around your apartment 'popping your guns' each time I came over there!" There's a beat of silence, and then a dozen different things happen simultaneously, and almost in slow motion.

Finnick falls off his deck chair, his ass thudding loudly onto the deck below. Annie claps, her sweet, sing-song laughter rising above everyone else's. Thresh chokes on his beer before lifting his hand and pressing his thumb and forefinger together in a symbol of 'okay'. Twins Pollux and Castor snicker in their seats, while Boggs and Cressida start to flex their arms in over exaggerated motions that look remarkably like what Aaran had done, once upon a time. Aaran's jaw drops, his eyes bugging out of his head, while Johanna practically doubles over in laughter.

But the only reaction I really take notice of is Peeta's, and the way that he's turned to smile at me, a friendliness and familiarity in his expression that's been missing from every other interaction we've had since I came back. I return it, a warmth filling my chest, spreading out to the top of my head down to the tips of my toes, and I feel like something has shifted infinitesimally.

Two hours later, after Aaran has suitably stopped sulking, and Annie has headed upstairs to go to bed, those of us who remain have moved inside and are grouped around their fireplace, our conversations much more muted and subdued than earlier in the evening. I've just farewelled Castor and Pollux when I turn back in my seat to find Peeta lowering himself onto the sofa beside me, planting his elbows on his knees, his arms dangling down towards the ground.

"You know, I never thought you'd admit to it," he says, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Trust me, neither did I," I reply. "I just blurted it out. I've found that's been happening to me a lot."

"I can't believe that after all these years, he still had no idea that it was you."

"I guess the prank had your fingerprints all over it," I kid, and he smiles.

"Yeah, I guess it did. We did pretty well to keep it a secret - until today."

I stretch my legs out in front of me. "We did," I agree. "Damn, I laughed over that for days. Old Rooba from the butchery came into the bakery every day for a week after that, hoping to 'get another look at the sausage'."

Peeta chokes back a laugh. "She didn't."

"I swear I heard her say that," I tell him adamantly. "I think I needed therapy after hearing Aaran's dick being referred to as a sausage."

This time he can't hold the laugh back, and it rolls across my skin like warm honey. "Oh my god," he manages to force out. "No wonder he's so traumatized."

I look over at Aaran, huddled up on one of the other sofas with Johanna, while he has what sounds like a vehement argument with Finnick about some cartoon bears whose name they remember differently. "I think he managed to get over it pretty well," I observe. He follows my gaze and nods.

"Looks like it. It's a good memory though, huh?" He asks.

I nod. "Yeah. Minus that whole sausage business, it's a good one," I reply, and he smiles.

Then, almost as one, we both turn to stare into the fire, and the heat from the flames seems to thaw the ice between us even more.

* * *

Two days before the engagement party, I finally decide to take up Johanna on her offer to borrow her car again, and head inland to Lake Merchant. It's been on my list of places to visit for weeks, but I'd yet to get around to it. With my time dwindling, and with no plans to return in the foreseeable future, it's likely to be my last chance to see it.

I head out early, stopping past the grocery store to make myself a packed lunch of sorts, and turn down highway twelve, tapping my foot along to the aggressive banjo sounds of Mumford and Sons. The trees along either side of the road make my path to the lake a golden one, the fall foliage glowing in various shades of yellow and orange, red and brown, and everything in between. It reminds me of home, and I realize that within a matter of days, I'll be there, and my journey will finally be over.

At least this one will be, anyway. I guess a brand new one is about to begin.

I arrive at the lake to find it blissfully empty, not a car or person in sight, and I step from the car, pulling my jacket tighter around me, wrapping my scarf once more around my neck. It's probably no colder than any other November, but I'm feeling it more this year. Maybe it's because winter in Australia had hardly felt like winter at all, and had been immediately followed up by South East Asia in the middle of a very warm spring.

I duck my head back in the door and reach over into the passenger seat, grabbing the backpack I'd stuffed with my grocery store provisions. I pop the trunk and rifle through it to see if there's anything that will work as a blanket - I'm rewarded when I find a plaid, plastic-backed mat folded up and shoved into the corner beside the jack.

Shrugging the pack onto my shoulder and tucking the mat underneath my armpit, I close down the trunk and head towards the lake edge, crisp leaves crunching underneath my feet. I breathe in deeply, and feel like I'm back in my element. Nature, it all its beauty, has always felt like my home away from home.

I spread the mat out on a patch of grass a few feet from the water's edge, dump the backpack on top of it and lift my hand above my eyes, surveying everything in front of me. The lake itself is a kidney shape, mostly surrounded by trees, with a slight break in them to a vista of what I assume is Seam Mountain in the distance. The water itself looks startlingly blue, like someone has poured food coloring into it, the trees directly around it even more vivid in their fall shades as a result.

Yeah, I'm glad I didn't leave this place off my list of things to see.

I go for a short walk, the habit of keeping an eye on my gear still ingrained from traveling, and I make sure that wherever I venture, I can still see my mat. It can't hear anything but the crunching of leaves under my feet, the water lapping at the edge of the shore, the occasional bird chirping. No cars, no tourists, just the lake.

I feel more relaxed right now than I have in years.

I return to the mat and start to nibble on an apple while I pull my kindle from my backpack, with all intentions of _finally_ reading a book I'd downloaded about 6 months earlier, when I hear the rumble of a car coming down the rough road leading to the lake. I groan, annoyed that I have to share my sanctuary with someone else, and toss a glare over my shoulder towards the hatchback that's pulled into the small lot.

And then I quickly turn around, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest, when I see that it's Peeta who climbs out of the drivers seat.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_

I hurriedly swallow the piece of apple in my mouth, throw my kindle back in my bag. I didn't expect him here, and while we might have had a half-decent conversation the other night, he probably wouldn't want _me_ here right now.

"Katniss?"

I twist my body around on the mat at the sound of my name to find him already walking towards me, a large black bag over one shoulder. As he gets closer, he pulls off his sunglasses, reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket for his normal glasses before sliding them on. The sunglasses find their way smoothly into the pocket, and it looks like a well-practiced process.

"I didn't expect you to be out here," he greets.

"I didn't expect you out here either," I reply, and he smiles slightly.

"Last minute decision. I had a meeting with a client this morning, and she's...a bit much. I needed a breather, and this place always relaxes me."

"It is pretty relaxing," I agree, then start to rise. "Anyway, I think I'll head off. I don't want to impede or anything-"

"You don't have to go," he says quickly. "It's fine. I'm going to be moving around the lake taking some shots anyway, so you can stay. It's all good.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He nods, shoves his hand into the pocket of his jeans. "Um, if you're gone before I get back, I guess I'll see you at the engagement party?"

"Yeah. I'll see you then."

"Okay." He turns on his heel and walks away; I watch him for a moment before looking back down at the mat guiltily. I've got no right to sit here and stare at how good his jeans fit.

I retrieve my kindle and immediately start reading, as a way to avoid the temptation to look up and search him out. Thankfully, the book is good, and it doesn't take long before I'm completely sucked in, and I've forgotten about the lake, and Peeta and everything around me. I don't even notice that Peeta has returned until he places his bag on the mat beside me and hunkers down in a crouch; I look up at him in surprise.

"Are you done?" I ask, and he nods.

"Yeah. I've been out there for well over an hour, you know."

I blink, look down at my watch. Sure enough, it's almost midday, and my stomach begins to rumble the moment it realizes it's close to lunch. "Wow," I reply. "I guess I got caught up in my book."

"I'd ask if it was any good, but I'm guessing that it is."

"Yeah, it is. Not my usual fare, but I'm really liking it." I look from him to my backpack, then back again. I wonder if what I'm about to ask is a bad idea, but I don't give myself a chance to second guess myself. "I've uh, got some food in my backpack, probably more than I'd eat. Would you like some? Like, for lunch?" I see him hesitate, watch the indecision warring across his face before he finally nods.

I pull out the baguette, the thick wedge of creamy cheese, and another couple of apples, along with a bag of Doritos. The knife I'd pilfered from Johanna and Aaran's kitchen is in the side pocket, and I pull that out too, laying it all on the brown paper bag the groceries had come in. "It's not much," I observe.

"It's more than enough," he tells me, rising up to shuck his jacket off before lowering himself back down so that his legs are propped up in front of him, his arms braced across his knees. "It reminds me of the picnics we used take in the meadow back home."

I'm lucky I've already started to cut into the cheese, otherwise there's a good chance I could have sliced open my thumb. Our picnics had been exactly what had inspired me when I'd planned to come out here, but I don't have the courage to admit that to him. Instead, I just nod, keep my eyes focused on my hands as I slice off chunks of cheese to spread onto the baguette.

At first we eat in silence, nothing but the sounds of crunching apples and rustling bags to break it. I take a handful of Doritos, and manage to drop them all on the mat; we both catch each other's eye and laugh without thinking.

"Five second rule," he says lightly, and I scoop them up, shoving them into my mouth as quickly as I can.

"I'm glad that rule never goes out of fashion. Otherwise I would have been out a lot of food by now," I joke.

He smiles, then opens his mouth. "I have something to admit," he blurts, and I lift my eyebrows curiously at the complete change of topic.

"Oooooookay…" I reply hesitantly.

"I took some photos with you in them," he rushes out, and the pink on his cheeks is kind of endearing. "I didn't mean to, and I'll delete them if you want me to. I just...I was on the other side of the lake, and you were reading, and it was just a great shot, really serene…" he trails off.

"It's fine." I'd say more, but I can't. Not when I'm more than ridiculously pleased by his admission.

"I know it's kind of weird-"

"Peeta, _stop_ ," I say firmly. "You're a photographer. It's your job. That's all."

"Yeah. That's all. Of course." He nods jerkily, and shoves a piece of the bread in his mouth.

There's something inside me that aches at how he's acting, that he'd feel so guilty about doing something he'd done so regularly when we were together. And while I have no idea how to ease however he's feeling, it suddenly hits me that I don't think I'll ever get another chance to be alone with him, to finally tell him everything that I need to say. Maybe that's all I'm meant to do in this moment.

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"If...If I wanted to tell you some things, would you listen?"

I look over at him, wait for him to meet my eye. It takes a moment, but then he nods slowly.

"I know I treated you badly," I start, drawing my legs up against my chest and wrapping my arms around them. "And I know I can't take it back, but I wish I could. You were right with what you said to me at your studio when I first came here - I was running, always running. Running away from my past, from my mom and dad, from you, from a career that was going nowhere - but I never knew where I was running to. I still don't know, but I know I'm done with it." My words are now tumbling out all over each other, but I don't care. I've got three years of words to pour out to him. "I've fucked up so many things, done so many things wrong, and when I found you online...when I found you, I realized I could never really go home without apologising, without saying sorry for what I did to you. I knew I wouldn't be able to start over until I did." I pause and take a deep breath, though I don't chance a glance at him. Instead, I clench my arms even tighter around my legs. "I never meant to hurt you, Peeta, never _wanted_ to hurt you. And I'm so, so sorry that I did."

I finally do look up at him then, to find him staring at me. It's that look again, the one I saw when we were in his studio and I still can't read it one little bit.

"You know," Peeta starts quietly, pushing his glasses up slightly higher on his nose with his pointer finger. "Sometimes I almost can't believe you're the same Katniss."

"Huh?"

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly before it's gone again. "There's something different about you - you've changed. It's a good change," he adds, when I realize the look on my face must be one of dismay. "Because there were times when we were dating that there was so much anger and hurt in you from your parents that you were holding in, that I wasn't ever sure you would be able to break free from it. I know Prim tried to talk to you about it, Haymitch did, I did-"

"I told you all about my parents!" I exclaim, and he patiently holds up a hand as he shifts on the mat, his shirtsleeves pulling taut over his biceps with the movement.

"Yeah, you did. But you were still so closed off, Katniss, like you'd tucked parts of yourself away and you wouldn't let anyone touch them. And I guess...I guess if we're being honest with each other, that's why afterwards I knew that proposing had been the wrong thing for me to do. I should never have done it."

I can't help the way my mouth drops open at his words, the hurt a million times deeper than seeing Gale with Leevy.

"I'm not saying I didn't want to ask you, and that I didn't love you," he continues. "I did, so much so that I threw caution into the wind. Let my heart overrule my head. You'd always told me you didn't want to get married, but I asked you anyway. I did the wrong thing by asking you a question you'd told me you never wanted to be asked - but you did the wrong thing too when you just left. I wished you'd stayed, Katniss, so we could have talked about it. We could have amicably ended things there, or maybe even kept things the way they were, because I never really _needed_ to get married. I just wanted you. But we never got that chance." He pauses, runs a hand through his hair. "I wish we had, but we didn't. You just cut me out of your life. And instead now...here we are."

"Here we are," I echo, and I rest my chin on the top of my right knee, staring out at the water while I try to wrap my head around everything he's said.

"And Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth, I forgive you."

My heart flips over in my chest as my head jerks around to face him. "What?"

"I know you told me that's not what you came here for. But I do. Part of me wishes that I don't want to…" he shrugs. "But I can't help it. And I made mistakes too, and knowing that has made it all the harder to see you, to speak to you." He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, a nervous gesture I remember well. "Jo, as much as I hate to admit it, was right. I never could have lived with myself if something had happened to you, and the last words we'd ever spoken were angry ones. I fucked up too, Katniss, and I'm sorry as well."

At first, I'm not entirely sure what to say - I'm still utterly shocked at the fact that Peeta is next to me sharing lunch, let alone that he's telling me that he forgives me - and now he's apologising to _me_. But then I realize that the only reply I can give is the most simple one there is.

"Thank you," I murmur, and he nods.

We finish lunch, then go our separate ways; as I drive away from the lake, there's a lightness in me that I've not felt for a long time.

And I know Peeta is the only one who's ever been able to give me that.

* * *

My makeup is minimal - I'd never traveled with much, and I've not bothered to buy any since I returned - and my hair is simple, but the dress more than makes up for it. I'd found it in Johanna's wardrobe after she'd offered for me to borrow anything I'd wanted, and the column dress in burnt orange would have been a mini-dress on her. Thankfully, for me, it hits just above the knee, making it far more demure, but the figure-hugging aspect of it still manages to make it way more than just a standard dress.

I slick some gloss across my lips, give myself one last once over in the mirror. I'm looking forward to tonight, celebrating with Johanna and Aaran and their friends, but I'm also nervous, a slight flurry of butterflies in my stomach. They've been there ever since Peeta had accepted my apology, since he'd given one of his own, since we'd arrived at some kind of a truce.

Taking a quick glance at my watch - Johanna and Aaran had left hours ago to set up the café for the party - I'm dismayed to see that it's later than I thought it was. The party, by now, will have already started, and I'm going to be late.

I quickly grab the clutch I've left on my bed - another loan from Johanna, who pointed out that my backpack was not a good look with the dress - and have just picked up my phone from the bedside table when it begins to vibrate against my palm.

 _Gale_.

I stare at it for a moment, his name almost foreign to me. It's odd; the last few weeks, I've hardly thought of him at all, a marked change from practically living with him on the road for all that time.

I briefly consider not answering it, before finally giving in.

"Hello?"

"Catnip?!"

I cringe. That nickname is the other thing that I think has given up the ghost, along with our friendship. "Don't call me that, Gale," I reply. "What are you calling for?"

"I haven't heard from you since you left - I've been worried sick." The line is slightly delayed, and I wonder where he is. I'm not curious enough to ask, though.

"You knew how to reach me."

"I didn't think you'd want to hear from me."

"Then what a catch 22," I retort. "Look, I'm just about to head out. What-"

"Where are you?"

"What?"

"Where are you?"

"Why does it matter?" I lower myself to the corner of the bed.

"I know you're not in Panem. My mom says you haven't been back there at all."

My eyes narrow. "What the hell, Gale? Are you checking up on me?"

"I didn't know what was going on!"

I feel my teeth clench together. "A) you know how to use a phone and could have called me weeks ago, and B) I didn't have to tell you."

"But I asked you to."

I roll my eyes, even though he can't see them. "Well, you remember that part where you started banging other girls without telling me? After that, I'm pretty sure I didn't owe you any damn type of explanation."

"C'mon, Katniss, please." His voice is soft, a little pleading. "I'm sorry, I know I fucked up. If I could go back and change things, I would. I'm just stupid, and made mistakes I shouldn't have."

It's that that makes me pause, that stops me from hanging up on him - I think back to only two days before, when someone whose heart I'd broken had offered me forgiveness. And while the images of Gale and Leevy will be burned into my brain for a long time to come, along with the knowledge of all the other girls who'd been kept a secret from me, I need to take a leaf out of Peeta's book. Because I know all too well about making mistakes.

"Okay Gale," I finally say. "I'll accept your apology. But I don't think you should call me again any time soon."

He's quiet for a moment before he agrees. "I understand. Just one more thing though…"

I feel my shoulders tense, clueless as to what more there is for us to talk about. "Yes?"

"You've gone back to Peeta, haven't you?"

My lips press together tightly, my eyebrows draw together in a frown. "No, I haven't gone back to Peeta," I force out.

He sighs. "If you haven't, you should," he tells me, then hangs up with a goodbye that feels final.

I pull my phone away from my ear, stare at the screen as it returns to my wallpaper, not entirely sure what to think, what to feel. I hadn't expected him to call, hadn't even thought about calling him once since I'd flown out of Bali, and now I've been completely thrown for a loop. I didn't want to think of him today, didn't want to think of any of _that_ today, and now it's the only thing on my mind.

Opening my clutch, I drop the phone into it, and drag my flats from underneath the bed with my toes - heels were not a luxury you made space for when backpacking - sliding my feet into them at the same time I shrug into my jacket. I snag the spare keys from the table beside the front door as I make my way outside, feeling almost as though I'm in a daze.

It's about a twenty minute walk to the café on a good day, and I try to make better time than that, hurrying along the streets and pathways towards the beach. I manage it in fifteen, and when I arrive, I push open the front door to see the party already in full swing. There's plenty of people I recognize, along with even more that I don't, and they're all chatting and mingling happily, the tables and chairs normally set up for customers all pushed to the side to open the place up. The lights are low, the room dotted with fairy lights, while soft music plays over the speakers; it sounds like Johanna didn't win the fight over including Die Ärzte on their playlist.

A few people call out to me, but I barely lift a hand in acknowledgment, making my way over to the end of the makeshift bar that's been set up along the front counter, bottles of wine and beer stuck in colorful buckets filled with ice. I haul myself onto a yellow leather-topped stool in the corner furthest from everything, slipping off my jacket and dropping it to the floor beside me. I snatch out a beer at random, twisting the top open with the bottle opener that's attached to the bucket handle with a piece of string, and lift it to my lips, chugging back as much as I can in one go.

"I don't think anyone's daring you to drink that all at once, you know."

I choke slightly, lowering the bottle as I swallow a mouthful of liquid, and pivot on my stool to see Peeta sliding into the seat beside me, his eyes on the three-quarter empty beer bottle.

"Just wanting to get a bit of a buzz on," I murmur. "Such a shame Johanna and Aaran didn't spring for some liquor." I move the bottle around in my hand, watching the remaining liquid swirl inside it.

"What would you prefer?"

I sigh; even with just the simple thought of the drink, I can taste it on my tongue. "Gin and tonic. I drank it a fair bit when I was in Spain. It's kind of been my go to at the end of a shitty day ever since."

"You've not had a good day?"

"It's not been bad, per se. Just...something unexpected happened."

"You want to talk about it?"

"You don't want to hear about it," I tell him, taking another two big gulps. The beer is gone, and it barely touched the sides.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to."

"It's about Gale," I say bluntly, and wait for him to get up and walk away. Instead, I see his lips press together firmly before he nods once.

"We made some progress the other day, Katniss, let's continue to go with it. Tell me what happened."

I spin the bottom of the bottle against the smooth countertop, creating a ring of condensation. "He called me," I finally mutter. "After over a month of radio silence, he called me up and wanted to know where I was."

"And did you tell him?"

"He knows where I am," I mumble. Of course he does. He knew exactly where I was when he decided to call; it's the only reason he would have referred to Peeta. "I accepted his apology, at least."

He's quiet for a moment, and when I chance a glance at him, he doesn't look angry - mostly he looks confused. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit pleased.

"You asked me when I first went to see you what happened," I blurt, and he nods slightly. "Do you still want to know?"

"Do you want to tell me?"

I run my tongue across my bottom lip, go to tug on the end of my braid before I remember that I'd left it out in its natural state, all loose, casual waves. Instead, I push half of my hair back over my shoulder before I reach forward and pluck another two bottles out, popping the tops and handing one to him.

"I want to tell you, but…"

"But?"

"Some of it you might not want to hear."

He takes a sip of his beer, hums slightly. "It's possible," he agrees. "Very possible. But if you want to tell me, I'll listen."

My shoulders suddenly feel tense, as though a weight of bricks has landed on them. I look around, note that everyone is pretty preoccupied by the festivities, and what looks to be a Robot dance-off on the other side of the room.

"I don't want to take you away from the party-"

"Katniss, just spill it."

"I found him with another girl," I blurt, and I feel my cheeks burn. I don't really want to talk about this, but I hope that, by doing so, it helps him to understand. "In Bali. We were...we were sharing a room, and I'd gone out for lunch on my own. He'd told me he was tired, wanted to try and sleep a little more. We'd had a late night - we'd gone out drinking with a couple of people we'd met on a day tour to the monkey forest - so I didn't really think much of it. Plus, the more we traveled, the less rigid we'd become with our schedules, so we didn't really have to be locked into normal sleeping patterns. I went out, figured I'd come back in time for us to head down to the beach, go for a swim. I came back to our hotel room to find him with one of the girls from the tour."

"Oh."

"Yeah." I take another sip, welcome the coolness of the amber-colored liquid as it slides down my throat. "I left the same day; booked my flights, called Prim and hopped on a plane that night."

"And now he wants to get back together with you?"

I shake my head. "No. There's no getting back together when you weren't even together in the first place." I swivel on my stool slightly so that I'm facing him directly, pressing my knees together tightly. "We weren't _together_ , Peeta. We never were. Yes, we slept together, but we always agreed it never meant anything, that it was nothing serious."

He eyes me carefully. "Did you both agree to that? Or did you suggest it, and he agree with you?"

I open my mouth, then close it again. I _had_ been the one to suggest it, and he'd never argued with me, had never tried to push it. But I know there were times when he was drunk - like Lauren the loose-lipped conquest, he'd never done well with liquor - when he'd said things that I'd studiously ignored. "We were never serious," I repeat. "We never referred to ourselves as a couple, never thought of ourselves that way. And by the time I caught him with Leevy, we hadn't been, uh, intimate in well over two months. We were in Australia, and it just stopped. He didn't initiate it and I didn't miss it." Peeta looks as uncomfortable as I feel, so I don't say anything more, don't want either of us to think of me with Gale. "So technically it wasn't cheating when I found him with Leevy. Or when I'd found out about the others."

"The others?" Peeta echoes.

"Let's just say Gale enjoyed himself plenty in those two months," I reply, and for a moment I almost forget who I'm speaking with. "I guess by then we'd both known that even our 'no strings' had run it's course. It wasn't working for me, that's for sure. And I guess he realized that and decided to look elsewhere. He just forgot to tell me about that part."

There's a lull in our conversation, and I hear Johanna's raised voice at the other end of the room, but it's followed by a laugh and guttural _whoop_ , and while I have no freaking idea what's going on, I'm glad everyone else is having a good time. Me, I'm being nothing but a Debbie Downer - and to _Peeta_ of all people.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "You don't need to hear any of this."

His hand lifts from where it's resting against the counter, and for a moment I think he's going to touch me, but he lets his hand drop again without doing anything. "Hey. I told you I'd listen, so I did. And I'm sorry these things happened between you and Gale. You've been friends for a long time, way before I was even in your life. That's gotta hurt in some way."

I wonder how the hell I deserved to have this man in life for as long as I had. He's far more gracious with me than I could have ever expected. "Not as much as I thought it would," I admit quietly. "I've spent a lot of time wondering why it actually _didn't_ hurt more, why I wasn't as upset as I should have been. Why finding out the way I did was what affected me more than finding out about the girls themselves. I guess that kind of says it all, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," he agrees. His right foot starts bouncing against the metal footrest of his stool, his leg shifting up and down slightly with the movement. When he speaks again, his voice is throaty, as though it's coated in emotion. "You leaving hurt a lot. When you love someone as much as I loved you, it's kind of meant to. So, yeah. Maybe the lack of hurt does say it all."

His words are so sincere, so honest - even though the past tense of _loved_ makes me want to weep - and I feel an overwhelming need to comfort him. Without thinking, I reach out and cover his hand with mine, squeezing it gently, and even after all these years, the feeling of his skin against mine still affects me in exactly the way it always had. I look at our hands - my olive skin tanned from days at the beach and roughened by the work I've done; his smooth and pale, the faintest kiss of sun warming it - before I glance up at him.

And the look in his eyes is even more familiar than his touch.

Right now, I hate myself for running away, for fucking things up, for eventually sleeping with Gale, for getting so damn stuck in my own head that I couldn't wait a few days to talk things over with Peeta before I'd jumped on a plane. But more than anything, I hate myself for what I'm about to do, because I could completely screw up any inroads we've made over the last couple of days. But not even my own self-loathing can stop me right now. I'm not sure anything could.

I push forward on my seat, practically launching myself at him, closing my eyes and pressing my lips to his. I clutch at the front of his shirt, trying desperately to get his lips to start moving against mine, my heart dropping the more he stays still, the more he fails to respond.

And then suddenly I feel his hands wrap themselves on either side of my hips, his palms firm and strong and warm as he tightens his grip and pulls me even closer. My hands are twisted up between our chests and our bodies fit against each other like two pieces of a puzzle. His mouth warms to mine, searching and desperate, drawing my bottom lip between his before laving his tongue over it. His breath is hot on my cheek, and I can hear the little murmurs in the back of his throat that had never failed to get me hot when we'd been together.

Nothing's changed, apparently.

But then everything does, and he pulls away, dropping his hands from my hips as he slides off the stool and puts about a foot of space between us. I feel like my heart is going to beat right out of my chest, and I put both of my hands against it to it to keep it in place.

"I'm sorry Katniss, I can't," he mutters, his own breathing heavy and jerky. "I can't do this. I can't get hurt again. I just can't."

I nod despondently. "I know." Dammit. Of _course_ I had to ruin everything.

He runs a hand through his hair, tugs at the collar of his shirt. "I should go. Um, go and see Johanna and Aaran. I'm certain speeches need to happen at sometime tonight," he mutters. "I'll...I'll see you around."

He turns on his heel, and I watch him go before I grab another beer from the bucket.

* * *

I'd expected to sleep like a log - the emotions of the day, followed by an unexpected round of karaoke, a hell of a lot of beer and a studious effort to avoid Peeta at all costs should have made me exhausted, should have lulled me into oblivion already. But it's well past midnight, and sleep seems like a long way away, when I hear the banging on the front door. My body jerks at the loud sound in an otherwise utter stillness, and I almost fall out of bed.

I unravel myself from the sheets that have curled around my body as I twisted and turned in my vain attempts to get to sleep, and drag myself from the bed. I'd thought that Johanna and Aaran were going to crash for the night in the attic of the café, where Aaran had lived when he'd first moved to Amalthea - apparently not. Now I'm likely to have to try and help two drunk people who couldn't even remember to bring their damn keys home with them into bed.

I hope neither of them sleep naked.

I stalk out into the living room as the knocking starts up again; I'm just about to start telling them to stop banging the damn door down when I open it, and the words die on my lips.

It's Peeta.

"Peeta? What are you doing here?" I ask, confused, rubbing my eyes to make sure I actually haven't fallen asleep and this is just a dream.

"I don't entirely know," he admits, one arm resting against the frame of the door. "But…"

"But?"

"But I know I haven't been able to get this off my mind all night," he blurts, and swoops in, cupping both my cheeks in his hands and kissing me senseless. And I mean _senseless_. I can barely think, let alone stand. I'm grateful that the strength of his hands - the cupping of his palms and the length of his fingers twining in my hair - is keeping me upright, otherwise I'd be a boneless mess on the floor.

"What are you doing?" I finally manage to ask when he tears his mouth away to press his mouth along the curve of my jaw, up to the pulse point below my ear. I eagerly tip my head back, welcoming the feel of his lips against my skin, the way it sends shivers down my spine and all the way to my toes.

"I have no idea," Peeta admits. "I just…" He moves his mouth back to mine, and he doesn't finish his thought. He just keeps kissing me, and kissing me, and part of me wonders if I should actually breathe, but right now, I'd happily go without air if it meant that this could continue indefinitely.

His body presses up against mine like it did in the café only hours before; I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands splayed against his upper back, and I can feel the movement of his muscles underneath his shirt - the jacket he'd worn earlier is long gone, and I suddenly register that it's pretty damn freezing out on the front stoop. I tug him inside, slamming the door behind him; he spins us back around so my back is against the wall, and he's pinned me up against it. My heart is thundering inside my chest, my stomach flip-flopping like crazy, and I don't think I've ever been more turned on in my entire life.

Then he kisses me again, and it's a tangle of lips and teeth and tongues as we fight to get closer, as my fingers dig into his shoulders, and his hands slide up my thighs, underneath the hem of my shorts to cup my ass. His mouth moves down my neck, glides along my collarbone, out to the edge of my shoulder. And then he stops abruptly; his breath is drifting along my skin, and I'm gulping in huge mouthfuls of air, trying to steady my pulse and racing heart.

"What are we doing?" he murmurs, and I shake my head.

"I have no idea," I manage to choke out. I expect him to move away then, but he doesn't; he stays exactly where he is, and it's now that I can feel the beating of his own heart against my chest. Even between two layers of clothes, it's pounding so hard I could swear it was _in_ my chest.

"I didn't mean to come here, I just couldn't stop myself."

"I couldn't stop myself from kissing you at the party," I admit. "Should I have?"

Peeta's quiet for a moment before he responds. "No. Should I have not come here?"

I move one of my hands from his shoulder, lift his head up so I can actually see his face. His eyes, shrouded behind the glasses that I find ridiculously attractive, are a combination of confused and contrite and aroused.

"No," I tell him firmly. I kiss him gently at the corner of his eye, on the edge of his cheekbone, and there's something about this all that suddenly feels like goodbye.

Peeta takes a step back, straightens his shirt, adjusts his pants. If either of us were willing to throw caution into the wind, I'd drag him back to the spare room right now, and do all the things I've dreamed about doing to him for years.

But the part of me that can see the bigger picture, the one that knows there's a good chance we could totally screw up the tentative friendship that's beginning to bud if we do anything, knows it's not the right thing to do.

I've just got him back in my life. I'm not going to lose that again.

"Will you keep in touch?" I ask quietly, and he nods.

"Of course. After all, I guess we're friends now, and that's what friends do, right?" He smiles, but it doesn't completely reach his eyes.

"Right," I murmur, and I don't know if we're being honest or just trying to convince each other that we will.

"You have a safe flight back to Panem, okay?"

"I will."

He presses his lips to my forehead, lingering for a moment longer than a friendly kiss should probably linger. And then he opens the door, walks out of it with one final glance over his shoulder towards me.

I don't sleep at all, the memory of Peeta's lips on mine keeping me up for the rest of the night.

* * *

Returning to Panem isn't as hard as I thought it would be. Reuniting with Prim is emotional; it's good to see her after such a long time, and I vow to myself that I'll never go over a year without seeing her again. She's grown up so much - she's an _adult_ , a fully fledged adult who is well on her way to saving lives, and likes to make out with her live-in boyfriend, Thom, in the kitchen. I wonder how long they'll appreciate having a third wheel in the apartment, but for the moment, I think Prim is mostly enjoying having her sister back.

I spend Thanksgiving with her and Thom and Haymitch, who, despite all his crotchety-ness, has somehow managed to get himself a girlfriend. It's kind of nice to see him fussed over by May, and for him to actually call someone sweetheart, and _mean_ it. We eat turkey and mashed potatoes and green beans and pumpkin pie until we're all completely stuffed, and then I get to sit in the living room with two loved-up couples making googly-eyes at each other while we watch the tripleheader.

Or at least I watch it. I'm not sure how much attention any of them pay to it.

Christmas comes and goes just as quickly, New Years is spent with Delly and Madge and the few friends from high school we still bother to keep in contact with, and soon enough it's January and it's freezing and _damn_ I'm missing the beaches of Spain and Australia and Indonesia right now. The only thing that makes up for it is the snow; seeing the white flakes fall from the sky and land in the tangles of my braid quickly makes my post-traveling blues disappear.

I spend time catching up with old friends, and revisit my old boss at the recreation centre to see if there's any guide work during the summer season. He promises to let me know, but I know the possibility of work alone isn't going to be enough - my savings are all but depleted now, and I can't afford to be out of work for much longer if I'm expected to go three ways on the utilities and general maintenance of the apartment. Madge pulls through for me, and I step in to help when one of her coordinators in her PR firm goes on maternity leave. It's more enjoyable than I expect it to be - while dealing with people still isn't my favorite thing, my time on the road has made me a lot more sociable than I was before - but we both know it's only a short term fix. It gives me some time, though, to figure out what the hell I want to do.

Johanna has me on speed dial, and somehow I have become her unofficial wedding sounding board. It's not because I have extensive knowledge of weddings - clearly - but I think she likes the fact that I'm not there, living through it all. Plus she can bitch to me about Aaran all she likes, and I always listen.

And then there's Peeta.

He takes our agreement to be friends far more seriously than I ever expected him to; a couple of weeks after I'd left Amalthea, I'd emailed his professional address, a general 'hi how you going' email. I'd agonized for hours over what to write, even though it had been nothing more than a couple of sentences. I'd followed it up with a facebook friend request, though that was more at Prim's urging than my own desire. I honestly hadn't expected a reply to either of my attempts at contact, figuring that our promise that we'd be friends started and ended that night. That it had been our 'last hurrah' of sorts.

But he'd sent an email back within a day, along with a new personal email address to contact him on and a phone number. And a 'Peeta Mellark accepted your friend request' notification followed soon after.

What starts as generic moments of contact - an email, a text, a facebook message here and there - slowly evolves into something more. He's the second person after Prim that I call when I get in a small fender bender, the person that I bitch to when I've had to deal with one of Madge's asshole clients. Likewise, I hear of the difficulties he's having with a gallery in Capitol City who are displaying some of his prints, of the photography award he's been nominated for, of the news that his oldest brother is going to be a father.

He sends me links on facebook to sketches from SNL, while I tag him in stupid memes that reference not wanting to put up with people's bullshit at work. I even see him a couple of times when I'm FaceTime-ing with Johanna - who insists on showing me _every single thing_ she buys for what I think will be the most eclectic wedding of all time - his smile wide and his voice full of laughter as he tells Aaran he's totally whipped.

I like it when he jumps on the FaceTime calls - I study him way more than I listen to Jo. I watch him as he runs his hand across the back of his neck, as he pushes his glasses higher up on the ridge of his nose, when he quirks the corner of his mouth up when he's trying - and failing - not to laugh. These are the little things I'd loved to see him do when we were together and now, seeing them again...it makes my heart ache for what I've lost.

Then I get horribly drunk at Prim's birthday party in March, and in a moment of sheer insanity, send him a text to tell him I miss him. When I wake to see it the next morning, I fall back into bed in shame, then vomit in the shower.

I don't hear from him for four days, and I'm all but convinced that I've undone all the inroads we've made, when I get a simple two word response.

 _Me too_.

I re-read it for days, trying to decipher a meaning that probably isn't even there anyway.

* * *

"Aaran has still not picked a suit, and it is six weeks until the wedding."

Johanna glowers down the camera at me, as though I'm at fault for his laziness. I shrug, and change the angle of my macbook screen slightly, careful in the way I lean back in my desk chair. I've got my sneakered feet propped up on the edge of the desk, not having even bothered changing out of my workout gear after my run; the last thing Johanna needs to see is me in my sweaty tank.

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"Of course I have!"

"Then I don't know what to tell you."

"If only he was as organized as his brother," she mutters despondently.

"Ethen?"

"No, Peeta. He is like that boy scout he likes to pretend he was."

I snort. "Of course. How is he, anyway?"

She smirks, reaching just out of shot to pick up a glass that she takes a big gulp from. "Peeta? Ask him yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means? I know you are like email pen pals. And you are his favorite topic."

My head jerks back slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Geez, Brainless, figure it out." She uses the nickname that has somehow come to replace Catnip - I'm not sure I like it any better.

"Yes, we talk and email," I admit. "You know this. I just don't know what you're insinuating."

She rolls her eyes. "All I am saying is he talks about you a lot. Every chance he can get. It is almost sickening."

"Whatever, Jo," I mutter, refusing to acknowledge the way my heart has sped up a little.

"I am not lying," Johanna snaps. " _Katniss used to do this, and Katniss used to do that, and did you hear Katniss sing at your engagement party?_ Blah, blah blah. Of course I did you dummkopf, I was there." Her mocking Aaran with her German accent always makes me laugh, and with Peeta it's almost tenfold; I practically snort the soda I'm drinking straight up my nose. Now I _know_ she's just playing with me.

"He's not like that," I insist.

"Yes he is," she says firmly, then promptly changes the topic to the latest Tom Hardy movie.

Her words stay with me for the rest of the night though, and eventually, as I try to get to sleep, they make me start to wonder. Makes me wonder if she's right. Makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, he might be willing to give us another chance.

* * *

I wrangle over it for a month, trying to decide if it's something I should even consider. I'll be back in Amalthea in less than a week - Johanna had threatened me with physical violence if I didn't show up for the wedding, and it makes me question how in the hell we actually became friends - and if I was going to say anything, do anything, I think it's going to be my only chance.

In the end, it's Prim who helps me decide.

"You know you still love him, right?" She says to me one night. We're in our living room, a rare evening with just the two of us - Thom's out with some of his friends, celebrating their last exam. We'd been watching old episodes of Brooklyn 99 when she'd paused it before it could continue onto the next one.

"Huh? What?" I turn to face her, confusion on my face. I love Andy Samberg?

"Peeta." She says it so matter-of-factly, as though we were just talking about him. "You never stopped."

I shake my head. "Prim, why are we talking about this now?"

"I'm right though, aren't I?" She purses her lips together, folds her arms across her chest. With her sassy blonde bob, she looks like the kind of girl I would have avoided in high school.

"I-" I cut myself off before I continue. One of the things I've promised myself that I'd do was be more honest. And what I'd been about to tell Prim had been a lie. "Yes," I finally admit. "I do."

"Good. You need to tell him that."

I shake my head. "He won't want to hear it."

"You don't know that," she argues. "But I know I don't want to hear you mumbling about it in the bathroom anymore if you're not going to do anything about it."

My mouth drops open. "Geez, Prim, you weren't this bossy when we lived together before."

She grins, the two dimples in her cheeks popping. "Times change." Then she reaches for my hand, grips it tightly. "Look, I'll admit that I was surprised at first that you guys were able to be friends again. But I've seen you when you read a text or email from him, I hear the laughter in your voice when he's at Johanna and Aaran's place when she FaceTimes with you. And...look, just throw some caution into the wind. What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could tell me no, tell me he never wants to see me again."

Prim shrugs. "Exactly. No excuse."

I want to tell her she's crazy, that having the worst happen would be...well, the worst. But she's right. What I did to him was so much worse, it can't even be compared. If he says no, he says no.

Oh god, I'm going to do this.

* * *

I'm nervous, even more nervous than the first time I'd stood in front of this building. I still don't know what I'm going to say, or how I'm going to say it, but I've never let that stop me before. I glance up and see one of the curtains on the second floor twitch, and my toes wriggle nervously in my Vans, knowing that he's seen me and there's no backing out now.

I walk hesitantly down the pathway to the front door, my hand visibly shaking as I reach for the doorknob. But I don't have a chance to grasp it, the door swinging open in front of me before I can. I blink almost dumbly as I look up at him, the smile on his face a marked difference from the looks he'd given me back on that cool October day.

I think Amalthea is even more beautiful in May.

"Hey," he grins, leaning against the doorframe. He looks so casual, so relaxed, and I just want to throw myself at him, wrap myself up in his arms and never leave again.

"Hey," I reply.

"I didn't expect you in town until tomorrow. Jo drag you here early with some wedding emergency?"

I shake my head, vaguely wonder if I should have left this conversation until after the wedding. _Whoops, too late now._ "Oh, uh no. I, um, just wanted to see you first."

"Yeah?" He pushes away from the frame, steps back so I can move inside. He closes the door behind me, but not before I spy him quickly flick the _Closed_ sign over on it.

My heart leaps like a lovestruck teenager, and I remind myself not to get my hopes up. He probably just doesn't want anyone interrupting.

"What's up? Is everything okay?" The concern in his voice, and on his face, is genuine.

I nod, and figure there's no point in me putting this off any longer. I won't be able to have a coherent conversation with him anyway, what with this hanging over my head.

"Peeta, I can't be friends with you," I blurt, and I watch as his face falls and _fuck_ , I've done it again. "No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I mean...I mean that friends...isn't enough. These last few months, I've been so grateful that we've been able to become friends again, and that we talk so much, but...I can't not tell you anymore." I run my hands across my face, rub at my eyes. I want to look him in the eye, but I can't, so when I pull my hands away, I focus on a spot in the center of his chest and let the words tumble out. "I know you might not want to hear this, but I have to say it anyway. I know I've made a lot of mistakes, but there's a big one that I need to fix. More than any of the others I've already fixed, or the ones I still haven't. One big one."

Neither of us says anything for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his question is soft. "And what mistake is that, Katniss?" I lift my gaze, but he's not giving anything away. Hell, send this man to Vegas and set him up at a poker table.

"You," I blurt, and feel my cheeks flush. Here it is, there's no going back now. "Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. Saying no to you was the biggest mistake I ever made. I've known it all along, that it was a mistake and I should never have made it, but I just couldn't admit it and…" I trail off, knowing that I'm rambling, half conscious that my words are all running onto each other. "I wish I'd never left, wish that I hadn't left things the way I did, and I hate that I can't change that. But I want to try and change that now. I want...I want you to think about giving me another chance. _Us_ another chance. I still love you, Peeta, I always have, and I want to be with you. I promise not to hurt you ever again. I promise I'll never leave you again."

He licks his lips for a moment, his eyes blinking behind his glasses. "You can't make promises you can't keep, Katniss," he sighs, and the heart that had been so hopeful a minute ago is smashed.

"Okay," I falter, and I take a step back. "I, I understand, I do. And th-that's okay. It was a lot to ask of you, I kn-know that. I hope we can still-"

"I'm not saying no, Katniss," he interrupts, and takes a step forward to bridge the gap I'd opened. He just stares at me, and it's almost as though I can see the wheels turning over in his head, formulating what to say next. "But you can't promise not to hurt me again. You likely will, much like I could do the same to you. But it won't be intentional. It's probably more...you might hurt my feelings when you tell me I sound like a dying cat when I sing in the shower. Or I might hurt your foot when I undoubtedly step on it at the wedding on Saturday."

His words are like the biggest freaking ray of sunshine I've ever seen in my life, and I almost can't believe it. I don't deserve this, not in a million lifetimes. Not after what I did to him.

But maybe we've come far enough that we can start again.

"I didn't think that I'd ever want you back in my life, not like this. But I do. These last few months, getting to know each other again - I never imagined it, never anticipated it. It made me realise that my life has always been better for you being in it." He pauses, eyes searing into mine. "I just need to know that you really mean this, that you're serious about it."

"I do," I blurt. "I am, and that's why I don't want you to rush a decision, or try and be nice about it if you want to tell me to-"

"It's okay, Katniss," he murmurs, taking another step closer. "I already know my decision. You do too."

I _do_ , I really do, but I need to hear him say it. "Are you...are you saying what I think you're saying?" I stutter out.

"What is it you think I'm saying?" The corner of his mouth turns up, his eyebrow mimicking the movement.

"I think you're saying that you're willing to give us another chance," I whisper.

"I think you're right," he leans into me, wrapping one arm around my waist. "I love you, Katniss. And I promise I'll never ask you a question you don't want to be asked. Just us as we are will be more than enough."

I shake my head, reaching my hand up and brushing my fingertips along the three day growth shading his jaw. "You don't need to make that promise, Peeta," I tell him, and his eyes widen slightly.

"So if...if one day I did want to ask you something…"

"I'd allow it," I murmur, and pull him in for a kiss.

I won't make the same mistake twice.

* * *

 _A/N: When Jessa first announced this final round of PiP, I was torn. While I'd closed out my fanfic writing days, PiP was what had encouraged me to join tumblr, what had helped me to meet so many people and to make some incredible friendships that I still hold dear. And when I really thought about it, not participating felt odd; I knew I'd regret it if I didn't! I tried to revisit a few items I'd started and never finished, but I'm in a completely different place to what I was a year or two ago, and none seemed to work. Instead, this idea was born from the simplest of inspirations, and (as most things during PiP did for me!) it got a hell of a lot bigger than what I was expecting it to be. I wasn't entirely sure I'd get it finished in time, but miraculously, somehow, I did. Writing this ended up giving me a distraction from real life at the time I needed it the most._

 _The title for this is borrowed from Vance Joy's 'We All Die Trying To Get It Right'. His entire 'Dream Your Life Away' album was my playlist as I wrote this._

 _Thank you to jennagill and whoswhatsitwhich for reading over this behemoth at the last minute. And Starla, this is for you. It's only fitting that my final fanfic is dedicated to the person who got me into this glorious mess in the first place ;)_

 _You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings._


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